All This Waiting For The Sky To Fall
by DawnieS
Summary: They found her body – broken, bleeding, face filled with signs of pain and fear, and the Death Eaters had clearly enjoyed what they were doing – amidst the rubble of a ruined book store. A tragedy in five parts.
1. All This Waiting For the Sky to Fall

All This Waiting For The Sky To Fall

A/N: The first line from this (and the inspiration for the plot) comes from my other story _Epithet_, though no knowledge of that one-shot is necessary to understand this.

Summary: _They found her body – broken, bleeding, face filled with signs of pain and fear, and the Death Eaters had clearly enjoyed what they were doing – amidst the rubble of a ruined book store_. A tragedy in five parts.

* * *

_And after all this waiting for skies to fall  
I need this to be real; oh, please let it be real  
-Yellowcard, "Be The Young"_

i. James

They found her body – broken, bleeding, face filled with signs of pain and fear, and the Death Eaters had clearly enjoyed what they were doing – amidst the rubble of a ruined book store.

The first thing James saw was Lily. The redhead was on her hands and knees at Cynthia's side. Her face was streaked with tears that left tracks along her pale cheeks. One hand had extended in front of her, hovering over Cynthia's unseeing blue eyes.

Cynthia's blonde hair was splayed out across the ground beneath her head, the golden locks mixed with the debris. She would have hated that, James thought to himself. She would have hated that her hair had gotten dirty. She had been vain about her appearance – and with good reason. She had been beautiful.

She was _still_ beautiful. But her perfect features were dotted with specks of dried blood and there was a large crimson stain spreading out along the front of her robes.

Lily drew back her hand and rested it on the slightly visible bulge at her stomach. Their child. A child they would bring into a world filled with hatred and bigotry, with danger and violence, with war.

He hurried to her side, crouching down before her and pulling her towards him, trying to shield him from the view of Cynthia's body. She shouldn't have to be here, shouldn't have to see this. He wanted to give her happiness, and he wanted to protect her from the horrors of this place.

Too late.

He knew he couldn't do either.

"Lily," he whispered. "Come on. You don't need to stay here." He kissed her forehead and ran his hands through her hair, murmuring, "I've got you, Lily. It's okay. I've got you."

She turned and fell into his embrace, clinging to him tightly. "Don't let go," she whispered in reply.

"I won't," he promised, "not ever," and for a moment the strain and tension of the past few months seemed to fade away, and he wondered if, in this grief and pain, he might find his wife again.

* * *

But Lily seemed to be constantly moving away from him.

* * *

The room was silent except for the crackle of flames in the fireplace. Lily had sunk onto one of the large sofas the moment they returned home, and she hadn't moved since then. It had been two hours, and James didn't know what to do. His pregnant wife was staring blankly at the flames, and nothing he said seemed to register with her.

How was he supposed to help her? He wanted to take away her pain, would have given anything in the world to erase that look of grief and heartbreak and _resignation_ from her eyes. He knew that expression; it was the same one they all wore every time an Order member was killed. It was the expression that reflected all the pain they were feeling – and the fact that this attack, this death, hadn't been a surprise.

These deaths were practically _expected_ now.

But Cynthia...

Cynthia Connolly had been a pureblood. The Connolly family could trace their blood back through seventeen generations of witches and wizards, which was more than most other families could manage.

Her father had been a solicitor in Ireland before he died, and both her uncles were merchants. Her older brother worked at the Ministry, and her sister had married a German wizard who worked at a bank on the Continent. They were solidly middle class jobs, and as such, the family was often looked down upon by the more affluent purebloods in Britain. But although the family was by no means wealthy, no one could deny the Connolly's pure blood.

Cynthia had not been killed because of her blood.

She was not a member of the Order. Though her feelings on the matter were firmly anti-Voldemort, she was not one of the few that Dumbledore had asked to join his secret organization. Lily had been surprised and even a little bit upset about it, and James had often wondered why Cynthia didn't ask Dumbledore to join. The elderly wizard would have let her - James was sure of that - so why had Cynthia decided not to fight?

Had she hoped it would keep her safe?

The Connolly family was not outspoken about the war. Voldemort's reign of terror was mostly centered in England, and only just reached into Scotland. It had less of an impact on Ireland, and the Irish magical community had never been known for getting involved in English politics anyway. So although the family might not have agreed with Voldemort, they would not have been particularly high on his list of targets.

That should have kept her safe - right?

Cynthia had not been killed for her loyalties.

"Lily? Can I get you anything?" James tried again, but the redhead gave no answer to his whispered question. She didn't look up, didn't meet his gaze, and he found himself wanting to grab her by the shoulders and shake until she showed some emotion. Something. Anything.

Anything that would remind him of the Lily from Hogwarts, the Lily he had first known and first loved, the Lily he truly believed was still somewhere inside her.

She had clung to him and begged him to never let her go and he had thought...

But no.

He closed his eyes and pictured Cynthia's bright blue eyes, now clouded in death.

James had dated Cynthia for a few months during their fourth year. Cynthia had been fun. She'd flirted with him shamelessly, snogged him in the center of the Quidditch pitch after one particularly brilliant match, and laughed when he spiked Sirius' pumpkin juice with a Babbling potion directly before their Transfiguration lesson.

James felt his breath catch in his throat at the thought that he would never hear Cynthia's laugh again.

He turned away from Lily and stared out the window towards the sky. The night seemed even darker than usual. A few clouds had rolled in, blocking the stars from view and obscuring the half-moon.

He shivered suddenly.

He hadn't been there, when Cynthia had died, but he could so easily imagine what it had been like. The circle of Death Eaters in their hooded robes and masks, the raucous laughter as Cynthia screamed in agony… There had been no swift and painless death for Cynthia. No, it had been long and slow and agonizing.

The blonde witch had not been killed for her blood, and she had not been killed for her loyalties.

She had been killed for _fun_.

"I don't understand."

James started at the sound of Lily's voice. He turned to face her. She was still staring at the fire, and as James walked around the sofa so that he could face her fully, he saw that her eyes were swimming with tears. The raw emotion in her expression was enough to fill James with the nearly uncontrollable desire to hurt the people who had killed Cynthia.

But her voice was hollow. Empty.

"I don't understand how this happens. I don't understand why she died. Why we're all dying. I don't understand the _point_."

James crouched in front of her and took her hands in his. She felt cold and stiff, almost lifeless, but he pushed away that thought. He couldn't even bear to imagine what his life would be like without Lily in it.

Lily looked at him then, dragging her eyes away from the fire and settling them onto his features. She was searching for something, and through the grief and pain so prominent in her expression, he saw something else. Desperation? Hope? She was waiting for him to explain, waiting for him to make everything better.

He squeezed her hands. She didn't squeeze his back.

"I don't understand, either," he admitted.

She pulled her hands back sharply and wrapped her arms around her stomach. "I don't want to bring a child into this," she whispered.

"I know," James said. "That is why we're fighting. So that this will end before the baby is born."

Lily blinked several times, forcing back tears. Then she said in a choked voice, "Do you really believe this is ever going to end?"

"_Yes_," James answered emphatically. "It will end, Lily. One day it will all be over."

Lily stood up. "And which side will have won?"

* * *

It was the question they never asked, the possibility they refused to consider. It was going badly for the Order, and James knew that. It had been going badly for a while, perhaps before he and Lily even joined the organization. They were outnumbered, and the bureaucracy of the Ministry did nothing to help them. The Death Eaters were slowly picking them off, killing their loved ones and destroying everything they held dear, and the only thing that they had to cling to was the belief that one day this would all end.

But they never spoke of _how_ it might end.

And in that one moment, Lily had ripped apart the safety of their silence and forced that painful truth to the forefront of James' mind.

Long after Lily had fallen asleep, James sat on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling as though it might have answers for him. The fire died in the grate, the last sparks sputtering and the embers finally ceasing to glow, and James still could not bring himself to sleep.

Which side would win?

Lily had believed in the good in people. She'd had more faith in humanity than almost anyone he had ever met, and although that faith had been severely shaken once or twice at Hogwarts, he had never seen her as bitter and angry as she was now.

The anger had started with the onset of her pregnancy, and he had originally assumed that it was nothing more than hormones. But time had dragged on the few brief bursts of fury had become a constant, and their arguments had turned into screaming matches and then...

Then they had stopped talking all together, and his Lily had slowly started to fade.

He wondered vaguely - when she looked at him, did she think he had changed, too?

He curled his hand into a fist and pressed down on the sofa cushion. He hadn't cried for Cynthia before, but now that the house was silent and he was alone, he felt the burn of tears in his eyes. They wouldn't fall, he knew that much. They never fell. Not anymore, not when he experienced pain and grief every day, when it had become so common place that it didn't even surprise him when someone he knew, someone he cared about, was murdered.

And still the world turned. People went to work and came home and had dinner with their families and ignored the world going up in flames all around them.

Which side would win?

* * *

It was nearly four in the morning when he climbed into bed next to Lily. She didn't wake, but reacted subconsciously to his presence by curling onto her side and pressing herself against him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, pulling her close, and inhaled the smell of her shampoo.

"I love you," he whispered.

He didn't say it that often anymore. Love never seemed like quite the right word for what Lily meant to him. Four letters – it could never encompass everything that he felt.

"I don't understand what is happening to us," he continued. "The war… I don't understand that any more than you do. But I really don't understand _us_. You and me. How did this…"

He stopped, almost choking on the words.

_How did this happen? How did we get here?_

He simply couldn't talk to Lily anymore. That had never been a problem in the past – although, at least in their earlier Hogwarts years, _talk_ might not have been the most appropriate word. But even when she had been yelling at him and he had been attempting to impress her by acting like a complete fool, they had still been communicating.

Now, when Lily looked at him with that deadened expression in her eyes, he couldn't think of what to say. The words always seemed to die on his lips, or maybe it was that he didn't know the right words in the first place. He'd stumble over platitudes and promises, and her gaze always seemed to slip past him.

He let go of Lily and rolled over onto his back.

When was the last time he and Lily had _really_ talked?

That answer came to him readily enough. It had been in the first few weeks of her pregnancy, when the emotional turmoil of her hormones and the steadily worsening war had caused her to lash out at him more than once. But even then, even when she was screaming at him… at least they had been talking.

He let out a slow breath as the memory washed over him.

* * *

_She was standing in front of him, eyes blazing with fury. Her red curls stuck out in a jumbled mess, framing her too pale face. There were spots of color on either cheek, and both hands were resting on her hips._

_That was a bad sign._

_James took a deep breath. "Ah… Lily. You are awake, I see," he said, trying to keep his voice light.  
_

"_Yes, James," Lily said, and her own voice was dangerously close to a sneer, "I am awake. And you'll be pleased to know that I was also awake when Remus came by to tell me that your mission had gone well." She paused, an eyebrow raised accusingly. "The mission I _assume_ you were going to tell me about?"_

"_Yes. Well." James glanced around the small kitchen. He was wet and tired and sore, and the muscles in his shoulders and neck were screaming at him, demanding that he lie down and let them rest. There was also a dull ache behind his eyes, and the bright glare of the kitchen light was not helping matters._

_He wanted – needed – to sleep. Couldn't they have this argument some other time?  
_

_But Lily was staring at him with that anger still on her face, waiting for his response._

_He licked his lips and said, "It wasn't a big deal. And it was very last minute. I didn't plan on going anywhere tonight… Moody got a lead on Rosier and Wilkes, and he needed backup. The Ministry sent Aurors, of course, but Moody didn't think that they would be enough so he got word to some of the Order that we should go too, and…"_

_Lily's expression had grown even harder, if that was at all possible. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and it was an expression that would have easily rivaled any of the looks of disapproval McGonagall had given James and his friends during their seven years at Hogwarts._

_James scowled, annoyed at her disapproval. It wasn't as though he had been off having drinks with Sirius. They were at war and these two particular Death Eaters had caused a lot of trouble in the past._

_He sucked in a breath, and snapped, "It took six months to find them and you _know_ what Wilkes did to Fabian and Gideon's mother…" _

_Lily's eyes darted away for a moment as pain flickered across her face, and James allowed the silence to last just long enough for them both to remember what had happened to Mrs. Prewett. _

_Then he cleared his throat and pressed on, "Moody needed backup, and I was at headquarters so…"_

"_So you thought you were better qualified to handle this than the several other more senior Order members who were also there?" Lily interrupted, her eyes moving back to his face, her voice positively glacial._

"_Remus, Longbottom, that insufferable Edgar Bones, and McGonagall were the only ones there," James protested. "Remus couldn't go because it's the full moon in three nights and he's not up for it, and Bones and McGonagall both had other things they had to do. That left Longbottom and I."_

_Lily gazed at him. "Frank Longbottom is an Auror," she said coolly, "and he was no doubt calling for backup as soon as he received Moody's message. You didn't need to go with him."_

"_We're fighting a bloody war, love," James growled, his patience growing thin. "What did you expect me to do?"_

_Lily narrowed her eyes. "Did Frank call for other members of the Order? Or Aurors that he trusted? Or was your presence so vital to the mission that they couldn't possibly have succeeded without you?"_

_James closed his eyes. This wasn't an argument he was going to win. _

_Longbottom had called for a few other Aurors, as well as Fenwick and Dearborn. It had taken a while to get to the two Death Eaters, though, because both had been smart enough to put up wards and James and the others had been forced to trudge through an overgrown forest without using magic for fear of alerting the enemy to their presence. By the time James had even arrived at the scene, the battle was almost over. Wilkes had blasted off part of Moody's nose and Rosier had taken out an Auror James didn't recognize, but the two Death Eaters were outnumbered. _

_Wilkes had evaded the Aurors and fled, but Rosier had dueled until the end, preferring to die rather than allow himself to be captured. James had arrived in time to see Rosier's death, if not in time to do much else._

_So he wasn't going to win the argument. The problem was that he didn't even understand what it was they were arguing about._

_He opened his eyes and looked at Lily. "We're members of the Order, love. This is what we do."_

_Lily snorted. "Right. Run off without any preparation or planning to fight Death Eaters who are apparently powerful enough to evade capture despite the fact that Moody and half the Aurors have been looking for them for _six months_."_

"_We don't always have time to plan," James argued passionately. "The world is unraveling all around us. Nothing is ever going to be as perfectly ordered as you want it. This isn't Hogwarts anymore; life isn't planned out like a class schedule."_

"_Don't patronize me, James," Lily snapped in reply, stepping away from him as though his words had caused her some sort of physical pain. She wrapped her arms around her chest and said in a softer voice, but one that was still laced with anger, "I know that this is a war, and I know what that means. But you could have _died_, and it's like you didn't even think about that. Like you _never_ think about that."_

"_There are Death Eaters constantly threatening to kill me. Voldemort himself has tried it, more than once. I'm always in danger. _We're_ always in danger," James protested.  
_

"_And that is not a reason to go looking for trouble," Lily hissed._

_"I didn't go looking for trouble," James shot back. "I went on a mission. That is a part of this, Lily. It's a part of the war - I thought you understood that. You certainly didn't have a problem with it before. You used to go on the missions with me!"_

_"And now I don't!" Lily cried, throwing her hands into the air in frustration. "Now I let other people go on the missions, now I defer to Dumbleore and Moody and McGonagall and Merlin knows who else. Now they fight the battles and I..." She trailed off, shaking her head and looking for all the world as though she had no idea how to finish that sentence._

"_We're in the Order for a reason! I'm not... not Cynthia or Mary or everyone else who is content to just... This is our war!" James retorted furiously. "And I'm not going to sit here and let everyone else fight my battles for me!"  
_

"_But it's alright for me to do that?"_

_The question brought James up short, and he stared at Lily in complete bewilderment. "That's… different," he argued, gesturing towards her stomach. She wasn't showing yet, but the pregnancy potion had turned pink, and they both knew what that meant. "You can't fight… the baby…"_

"_And what happens if you die, James? Won't that hurt the baby, too?"_

"_I… I, well… of course. But it's different," James stammered._

"_It's not different enough," Lily answered simply. She sighed, the anger draining from her expression to be replaced by a look of weariness that was more than just physical. _

_James took a step towards her, wanting to pull her into a hug, wanting to kiss her, wanting to give her all of his strength so that she didn't have to look so tired._

_Lily reached up and cupped his face gently with the palm of her hand. "I love you," she said softly. "I love that you stand up against the odds, no matter how bleak they might seem. But you rush off into each battle without stopping to think about what you are leaving behind. It's like you think that you are invincible… or that your death won't hurt me."_

"_I don't think that," James said firmly, wrapping his arms around her waist. "But this has always been dangerous, and before you were pregnant…"_

"_But that's just it," Lily interrupted him. "There _isn't_ a before anymore. There is just now, and tomorrow, and the day after. I'm going to have a _baby_, James. And every time you recklessly, needlessly, risk your life, it is more than just me you are leaving behind."_

* * *

But they were at war, and the missions didn't stop and the battles didn't end, and James didn't know how to fight and stay safe. It just wasn't possible - a contradiction that Lily asked of him, one he just couldn't give. He promised her, over and over, that he knew he wasn't invincible, that he was being careful, that nothing he did was needless...

It wasn't enough.

It couldn't be enough, because he couldn't promise his own safety, and they both knew that. And he had to participate in missions, no matter how risky they were, because he couldn't change who he was, and he couldn't compromise what he believed in. For Lily, he would do almost anything - but not this.

He _couldn't_ turn himself into something that he simply wasn't.

Lily was no longer angry at him, but now she showed him almost no emotion whatsoever. Her once-vibrant personality was slowly being replaced by someone so _lost_, and he didn't know how to stop it. He didn't know how to reach her.

He turned his head and looked at her.

She was still lying on her side, her unruly hair obscuring her face and fanning out on the blankets around them. He pressed a kiss into her hair, then awkwardly curled himself underneath the covers so that he could kiss her stomach as well.

"I love you," he said again. Then he let out a slow breath and added, "I _need_ you."

There was no response from the redhead. He hadn't expected one – she was asleep, still, and couldn't hear the words he said. But even if she could hear them, even if she did hear them, would it make a difference? Would she respond?

She had once looked at him as though he was the only thing she could see, the only thing she _wanted_ to see. And that was gone. Now, more often than not, her eyes moved through him, past him, like she wasn't even aware that he was standing in front of her.

He'd fought for her love, and it had taken time and effort and a slow unbending on both their parts. But now it was fading away. He supposed he should be happy that she hadn't gone back to hating him, except…

He gave a dark chuckle in the silence of the bedroom.

He would take her hatred now, if it only meant that she would show emotion towards him again.

* * *

The invitation to the funeral came two days later, a cream-colored card in a black envelope. It was delivered by owl, and signed by Cynthia's father.

James read it and handed it to Lily. She read it, her expression hardening as her eyes scanned over each word, and then she threw it into the fireplace.

James watched her, and tired to remember what it had been like _before_.


	2. Satan Laughing With Delight

A/N: We're jumping around in time a bit here, so this chapter takes place a few months before the last one.

* * *

_And as the flames climbed high into the night  
To light the sacrificial rite,  
I saw Satan laughing with delight,  
The day the music died.  
- Don McLean, "American Pie"_

ii. Sirius

They were _laughing_.

It took everything Sirius had not to ignore McGonagall's orders and rush out into the street.

The sound of their laughter filled the night air, reverberating off the building and rising towards the crescent-shaped moon above them. It was loud, raucous… and cruel. And it did not completely cover the hoarse screams of their victim.

The girl was young – perhaps nine or ten. She was a Muggle. Her dress was torn and stained with dirt and blood, and her wide brown eyes looked up in horror at them men who loomed over her.

Her screams were cut off as she choked on her own blood.

Sirius barred his teeth and growled.

It would be suicide to rush into this madness now, and McGonagall's patronus had been very clear. Backup would be there, and soon, and in the meantime, Sirius was outnumbered by the Death Eaters and he _must not engage_.

He growled again. Didn't she understand what she was asking of him? How could she expect him to just sit here, tail tucked between his legs, and _watch_?

There were seven Death Eaters. And one Muggle. One Muggle _child_.

Sirius padded back towards the shadows of the nearby buildings. The Death Eaters paid him no attention. No doubt Voldemort had obtained access to the registry at the Ministry and knew the name and animal of every _registered_ Animagus. They had nothing to fear from a mere dog… and they were far too interested in their prey to allow him to distract them.

There was a flash of red light, and the girl started screaming again.

They were on the outskirts of a village – if it could even be called that. The houses were small, cinderblock buildings, and the streets were littered with broken cobblestones. The place had fallen on hard times, and only the most destitute lived here now.

The girl was screaming, and no one opened a door or a window to see if they could help.

That was for the best, of course, because they would no doubt be killed the moment they did. But still… Sirius couldn't help the fury that bubbled in his chest. How could anyone hear a child crying, _begging_, for help and ignore it?

And then it happened. There were several loud cracks, and figures appeared out of thin air. One of them cast a spell, and a shield sprung up around the child, protecting her from the Death Eaters. The others drew their wands and began engaging the Death Eaters in battle.

Sirius grinned, transformed back into his human form, and threw himself into the fray.

* * *

Winter had come early that year. The damp air had a heaviness to it, as though it was pressing down on the earth, trying to crush everything below it. No matter how valiantly the sun attempted to pierce the perpetual gray of England's winter, it could not, and the world seemed to grow just a little bit more oppressive with each passing day.

The Muggles noticed it, and yet also _didn't_ notice. They felt the gloom seep into their lives, felt the cold lodge itself in their bones, but never paused to wonder about the cause of it all. The days got darker and winter stretched on and on, and they did not question it.

Sirius downed the shot of vodka and glanced around the Muggle pub. The air was thick with smoke, so acrid it burnt his eyes and lungs… but it was a far more comfortable feeling than the emptiness in his chest.

They had _laughed_.

They had laughed, and the girl had screamed, and he had just _sat there_.

The Muggle pub was crowded, and Sirius closed his eyes and let the noise wash over him. People were shouting and laughing and complaining and just…

Just living their lives. As though the entire country wasn't in the middle of a war, as though everything wasn't about to go up in flames and…

"Hello, handsome."

Sirius opened his eyes and glanced at the girl who had suddenly appeared at his side. She was short, much shorter than him, and spry. Her black hair was cropped close to her head and her heavily made-up eyes were bright and twinkling with amusement. A flirtatious smile curved her lips.

"Are you alone tonight?" she asked, sidling closer to him.

He swirled around on the bar stool and stared at her. She was pretty, that much was true, and he wanted to conjure up the easy smile or confident smirk that had served him so well at Hogwarts. But neither expression would come.

"You look like you could use some cheering up," she continued, and her hand came to rest on his knee.

"I could," he agreed readily enough. That much, at least, was definitely true. He glanced away from her for a moment and flagged down the bartender. "Another vodka," he said, "and…" he glanced back at the girl, "whatever she's having."

"Vodka as well," the girl said. She gave Sirius a quick look, a challenge in her gaze, and said, "I bet I could match you shot for shot."

"I've already had three," Sirius replied.

"Hm…" She leaned close, and he could feel her breath on his cheek as she whispered in his ear, "Then I'd better catch up."

The hand moved further up his leg as the bartender deposited two glasses of vodka on the bar in front of him, and the noise in the pub pressed in on the two of them, reaching a crescendo that reverberated off the walls.

Sirius downed the shot without hesitation.

In his mind, the Muggle child was still screaming.

* * *

"Where did you find him?"

Sirius' head was pounding and his senses were dulled and confused by the amount of alcohol he'd consumed, but he was at least coherent enough to recognize the voice and the accompanying sigh of exasperation coming from above him.

Only Lily Evans could fit that much disapproval into five words.

"At a Muggle pub with his tongue down some girl's throat," came the reply from the wizard Sirius was currently leaning against.

"Well, bring him in, Moony," Lily said tiredly. "Set him down on the sofa, I'll go see if I have any potions that will help with his… _state_."

"You don't sound happy to see me, Morgana," Sirius said, and was quite proud of the fact that his words weren't slurred. He tilted his head up and regarded Lily, and she appeared as a white blob surrounded by a halo of red.

He blinked twice, and her face slowly came into focus, and he opened his mouth to say something else, but then Remus was half-shoving, half-carrying him to the sofa. The alcohol had clearly affected his coordination, and Remus was grinning.

Sirius rolled his eyes – or, at least, attempted to. He wasn't really sure he managed it.

Lily disappeared into the kitchen, but she was back a moment later, holding a glass of something that looked and smelled absolutely foul. She shoved it at him, and said, "Here, drink this. All of it."

Sirius' stomach heaved unpleasantly as he accepted the glass. The last thing he wanted to do was drink any of this sludge, but Lily was staring at him with _that_ look, and he knew it was in his best interest not to argue with her.

Of course, that didn't mean he was not going to do it.

"Are you trying to poison me?" he asked.

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Give me a little credit, Black," she drawled, "if I were to poison you, I would wait until there were no witnesses present." She nodded her head towards Remus as though to say that Sirius was safe… for now.

"Ah, but how could you even think of depriving the world of someone as wonderful as me?" Sirius protested, mustering up his best put-upon look.

"Oh, I think the world would manage," Lily replied with a faint smirk. "Now drink."

"Don't want to."

"What are you, four? Drink the potion, Black, or I'll force it down your throat," she replied threateningly.

Sirius groaned, but lifted the glass to his lips and drank quickly, nearly choking on the thick liquid. It made him gag, but it also started to ease the headache that had been slowly worsening since Remus had dragged him from the pub.

"Prongs not back yet?" Remus asked as Sirius attempted to finish off Lily's concoction.

Lily frowned for a moment, then said, "His meeting with Dumbledore must have run a little bit late… and he was going to bring Peter by afterwards…" She glanced towards the clock on the wall, and Sirius saw the lines of worry appear around her eyes and at the corner of her lips.

He cleared his throat and said, "Well, I guess you're stuck with me until Prongs gets back then."

Lily gave him a nonplussed look. "What makes you think I won't just kick you out now?"

"Do you want to get rid of me so badly, Madam le Fey?" Sirius cried, clutching his heart in mock pain. "Oh, that _hurts_."

Lily raised her eyebrows at him. "Get used to it," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

Sirius rose dramatically to his feet. "Well, if that is how you feel…" The potion had given him back full control of his senses, but it had not returned his coordination, and his attempt at a theatrical exit was ruined as his legs became awkwardly twisted beneath him and he pitched forward comically.

Remus reached out to steady him, biting back amused laughter.

"Trust you to make fun of me when I'm helpless," Sirius said, pouting up at the other Marauder.

Remus laughed outright at that. "When have you _ever_ been helpless?"

For a moment, Sirius stilled. For a moment, his breath stopped and fury pounded through his veins. For a moment, his gaze tuned a shimmering red.

For a moment, he was a dog sitting in the shadows while the sounds of laughter and screams mingled together in the air around him.

He blinked rapidly, pushing away the memory, and allowed Remus to guide him gently back onto the sofa. Lily took the empty glass from his hand – he hadn't realized he'd still been holding it – and said, "I'll get you some water."

He watched her leave the room, then looked at Remus and said flatly, "So she knows about the mission."

"Who do you think sent me to look for you?" Remus replied, taking the seat next to Sirius on the sofa. "James sent her a Patronus from Dumbledore's office, told her that you'd been on a reconnaissance mission and…" He trailed off delicately, unable to finish the sentence.

The problem with being an unregistered Animagus was that he was _good_ at reconnaissance. Good at slipping unnoticed through shadows and darting unseen along alleyways. Good at watching and gathering information and reporting back to the Order.

The other Order members didn't understand how he was any good at it because even now, even in the middle of the war, his ability to transform into a dog was a secret he couldn't share with anyone besides his three best friends and Lily.

But they didn't have to know _how_ he was good at it – just that he _was_. And that meant that Sirius Black – one of the _last_ people anyone could ever accuse of being subtle or understated – was often sent out on reconnaissance missions. And those missions had just two rules.

Keep your eyes open.

Don't _ever_ engage.

Remus cleared his throat, pulling Sirius from his glum thoughts.

"We assumed that it would be… bad," Remus said slowly, clearly picking his words with some caution.

"They always are," Sirius growled. A pause, then, "This one was a Muggle child."

"What happened?" Remus pressed.

"Someone told Dumbledore that Travers and Avery had been meeting with DeFrancisci – he's that fat bloke in the Muggle Liason Office. So I was following them when they left the Ministry tonight. All three of them left together, and DeFrancisci was talking about some new legislation having to do with Muggles. Then Avery asked if DeFrancisci wanted to have some fun. I think DeFrancisci knew what they meant, because he said no – coward doesn't mind supporting the Death Eaters, he just doesn't want to have to face the kind of things they do." Sirius closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the exact moment when DeFrancisci had left and those other Death Eaters had appeared in their dark robes and masks, ready for _fun_.

He shook his head and didn't finish the story. He'd have to go to Hogwarts, or maybe Headquarters, to report to Dumbledore, but for right now he didn't want to think about this.

He didn't want to remember the way they had laughed as one of the Death Eaters had dragged the young girl from her house and thrown her to the ground in the middle of their circle, didn't want to remember the sound of her screams and the scent of fresh blood, didn't want to remember his frantic message to McGonagall and her reply.

_Do not engage until back up arrives._

"How many were there?" Remus asked.

"Seven," Sirius answered dully.

Remus reached out and placed a hand lightly on Sirius' shoulder. "You're not invincible, Sirius. If you'd tried to fight them before the other Order members got there, they would have killed you."

"So I was suppose to hide in the dark while they tortured a _child_?" Sirius spat out, the pain still so raw and the anger still so fresh.

Remus let out a slow breath. "Would you have been any help to the child if you'd been killed?"

Sirius shrugged Remus' hand off his shoulder and muttered sourly, "You should have left me in the pub. I was having a better time there."

"Yes, I saw," Remus said dryly. "She was pretty, I'll give you that much."

"Good snog, too," Sirius replied. Remus rolled his eyes, and Sirius added, "Better than being stuck here with the two of you. Where is Evans, anyway? How long does it take to get water?"

As if on cue, Lily reappeared in the doorway holding the glass of water in her hand. Sirius was under no delusions about what had happened; Lily had been standing in the kitchen listening to the entire conversation, waiting for the appropriate moment to join them again. She knew that this was the sort of thing he would talk to Remus about, and the sort of thing he _wouldn't_ talk to her about, and that was why she had left the room in the first place.

He was both annoyed and gratified by her understanding.

Sirius took the water from her at the exact moment that the door burst open and James came bounding into the room with a grin on his face, Peter trailing behind.

"Padfoot!" he exclaimed. "Moony!"

Sirius exchanged a brief look with Remus, who looked just as bewildered by James' enthusiasm as Sirius felt.

"Did you tell them?" James asked, looking at Lily. "Did you?"

Lily shook her head, an expression of fond amusement on her face as she gazed at her husband. "Not yet," she said. "I was waiting for you." She looked down, studying her nails for a moment, and added casually, "And I still think it is too early to say anything about this."

"It's the beginning of December, love," James protested. "We've already waited."

"Not long enough. We really should be waiting until January," Lily answered. "Every book I've read says that you should wait at least three months until…"

"I can't wait. I want everyone to know. I want to fly over the entire city and shout the news at the top of my lungs," James replied. Then he paused, frowned at Lily for a moment, and added, "And haven't you already told Cynthia?"

"I didn't _tell_ Cynthia," Lily shot back defensively. "She figured it out on her own when I turned green at the smell of that tea she brought over."

"I thought you looked lovely," James said. "That shade of green matched your eyes _so_ well."

"Prongs," Peter cut in, rubbing a hand over tired eyes, "what did you want to tell us?"

James grinned boyishly and crossed to Lily's side. He rested his arm casually over her shoulders and gave her a look of complete adoration as he announced, "I'm going to have a baby!"

"_We're_ going to have a baby, James," Lily corrected with a light laugh. "And_ I_ am the one who is pregnant."

"Yes, right… well." James was still grinning as he kissed Lily on the nose. "We're going to have a baby. A little James. James Jr."

"We're not calling him James Jr. Besides, we don't even know if it is a boy. Maybe it will be a girl, and I don't think she is going to like being called James."

"Hm… true. Well, if it is a girl, we can call her Jamesella."

"Jamesella? What kind of name is Jamesella?"

"Jamesina? Jamesa? Jamesica? I'm sure we'll come up with something, love," James said with a wink.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," Remus interrupted the quibbling couple. He rose from the sofa and quickly embraced both James and Lily, a genuine smile on his features. "I look forward to meeting little Jamesella."

"I am _not_ naming my daughter Jamesella!" Lily snapped. Then her expression softened and she said, "Thank you, Remus."

Peter scurried over and gave his own congratulations, and then James turned to Sirius expectantly.

Sirius just stared at him. "You're having a baby?" he asked, not sure he quite understood. "I… you're having a _baby_? I don't… how?"

"How?" James repeated. "Do you really need me to explain where babies come from?"

James was going to have a baby. James was going to be a father. James was going to raise a _child_… in this world.

In the sudden silence of the room, Sirius could hear the echoes of a Muggle child screaming.

But James had clearly been excited to share this news with his best friends, and had expected more of a reaction. His hazel eyes were darkening, a look of worry replacing the love and exhilaration that had shone there moments before, and Sirius felt a stab of guilt that his silence was the reason for that.

He cast about for something to say, something that would sound like him, something that would be more sincere and heartfelt than a simple congratulations, and before he could fully think through the words he found himself saying, "So when do I get to take the kid for a ride on my motorbike?"

"No child of mine is riding that flying death trap!" Lily interjected as James laughed.

Sirius smiled slightly, watching with amusement as his friends – his _family_ – gathered around him. The screams were fading now, and Peter was insisting on raiding the kitchen for some champagne to celebrate while Remus hugged Lily again and James flopped down on the sofa with that silly grin back on his face.

"Don't worry, Morgana," Sirius said with a smirk, "I promise not to let your child ride my motorbike until he is at least a year old."

* * *

"Lily says James wants to name their child Jamesella."

Sirius glanced up as Cynthia slid onto the barstool next to him. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing dark trousers and a blue shirt, and despite the casualness of her dress, she still looked stunning.

But then, Cynthia was always been beautiful.

"Yes," Sirius agreed, sipping at his Firewhisky. "Evans doesn't seem to like that idea."

Cynthia nodded. "What a surprise," she deadpanned. She looked around the room, and asked, "So what are you doing at the Hog's Head?"

Sirius stared at her blankly for a moment, then lifted his glass and said, "Drinking."

Cynthia rolled her eyes. "Don't be a prat, Black," she said, but her tone was good-natured and a smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at his Firewhisky with pursed lips. "Why are you drinking?"

Sirius regarded her for a long moment. He'd always liked her better than Marlene, who giggled far too much and was always gossiping. But Cynthia hadn't joined the Order, even when Marlene had, and he'd often wondered about that. She hated pureblood prejudiced, and she knew that the country was fighting a war, and yet she hadn't felt the same need to fight as he had.

He looked down at his drink and said, "I can't tell you."

He doubted she would understand, anyway. She wasn't in the Order - and perhaps she was content to live her life as though the world was not crumbling all around them, but he was not, and so she could not possibly hope to comprehend the hell he went through so frequently.

Cynthia accepted that in silence, and if she caught the judgment in his tone, she said nothing about it. She never pressed for details about the Order, even though she had to know that several of her friends were in it. Membership was supposed to be a secret, but it wasn't - not really. Anyone with half a brain and a little bit of perceptiveness could figure it out, Cynthia was smarter than most.

But even if she had been in the Order, Sirius doubted she would have pressed for more of an answer. She seemed to understand that there were things they _couldn't_ share, and there were things they didn't _want_ to share, and she respected both.

Sirius put the glass down on the bar and ran a hand through his hair. It had been so easy to ignore the war during the previous night's celebrations. His friends' joy had momentarily lessened the horrors they faced every day. But then he'd left James and Lily and their planning for the future and walked back out into the real world and…

"Does it help?" Cynthia asked. He slanted a confused look at her, and she elaborated, "The alcohol. Does the alcohol help?"

He looked down at his drink. "Not really," he admitted.

"Did snogging a complete stranger help?" Cynthia asked, a teasing light in her eyes.

"Evans tell you about that?" Sirius groaned.

"Lily tells me everything," Cynthia replied.

Sirius nodded. "So did you have to hear all about how much she hates all the names James has picked?"

Cynthia laughed. "Can you blame her? He's got lousy taste if he's going with Jamesella." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bar, and said to the passing bartender, "Can I have a Firewhisky, please?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow at her. "Didn't realize you could handle that stuff."

"I probably can't," Cynthia replied honestly. "But when did that ever stop me?"

The bartender handed Cynthia her drink and Sirius watched as she gulped down half the amber liquid in the glass, coughing as it burned the back of her throat.

There were dark circles under her eyes.

"You might want to slow down," he said. "Unless you have someone to carry you back to your flat."

Cynthia gave him a flirtatious smile and said, "Are you volunteering?"

Sirius grinned, but replied, "You're not my type."

"Ah, yes. You prefer strangers."

"Touché. But then, you are about as strange as they come."

"Funny, Black, very funny."

"Oh, I'm not funny. I'm always quite serious."

Cynthia shook her head. "Doesn't that joke ever get old?"

"Of course not," Sirius replied, taking another sip from his glass. "None of my jokes get old."

"Who told you that?"

"James."

"And you _believed_ him? The man who wants to name his daughter Jamesella?"

The banter was easy and comfortable, and for a moment it felt like they were back at Hogwarts, back behind the walls of the school that had somehow protected them from the reality of this war.

Cynthia swiveled around in her barstool, glancing around, and said, "I suppose I will just have to find someone else to take me home. Shouldn't be _that_ hard..."

And, as if to prove her point, Sirius noticed that several of the wizards in the seedy bar had paused to look at her as she surveyed them.

"Yes, yes... you are beautiful and can entrance any guy you want," Sirius said in a bored tone, "you know... as long as he's a complete moron without any personality or intelligence."

Cynthia glared at him.

Sirius grinned, then lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. "To going home with complete strangers."

"You're a complete prat," came the reply.

Sirius took a sip of the Firewhisky and wondered how Cynthia could manage to smile so easily. She might not be in the Order, but this was still a war, and she was training to be a Healer...

He closed his eyes and listened to the screams echoing through his thoughts.

"What happened?" Cynthia asked finally.

_I can't tell you._

The words lingered on the tip of his tongue, but instead of saying them he found himself answering honestly, "I watched seven Death Eaters torture a child. A defenseless Muggle. And I couldn't stop them."

"You stopped them eventually," Cynthia replied.

It wasn't a question, but Sirius answered anyway. "I did. Well, we did. And we caught a couple of them, and I'm not dead, and the girl isn't dead, and I know that is a good thing, but… the child was _screaming_. Do you really think she cares that I had a good reason for waiting to help her?"

Cynthia took another sip of her Firewhisky. "No," she answered flatly. "But your death wouldn't have saved her any sooner."

"Yeah…" Sirius downed the last of his drink. "Somehow, that doesn't really help."

"I know," Cynthia agreed quietly. She swirled the remains of her own drink around in her glass, and then swallowed the rest of the Firewhisky in a single gulp.

"Do you want another one?" Sirius asked.

"Trying to get me drunk?" Cynthia asked.

"Of course," Sirius retorted. "How else am I suppose to take advantage of you? Unless perhaps I can win you over with my charm and good looks."

"What charm and good looks?"

"Oh, you've wounded me," Sirius shot back.

"You'll survive," Cynthia replied dryly.

"I happen to know that you thought I was _quite_ handsome when we were at Hogwarts," Sirius said, and was rewarded by a faint blush creeping up Cynthia's cheeks.

"It was a passing phase," she said, flicking a few loose strands of blonde hair out of her eyes. "I outgrew it."

"Not possible," Sirius declared. "No one ever becomes tired of me! If anything, people like me even more as time passes. I grow on them."

"Like fungi?"

Sirius had no reply to that, and Cynthia gave him a satisfied smirk.

He glanced at Cynthia's empty glass. "You never did tell me… why are you drinking tonight?"

Cynthia frowned at him, then looked away. "I work at St. Mungo's, Black," she said tiredly. "Who do you think they brought the Muggle girl to?"

* * *

He didn't fancy Cynthia - hadn't even _thought_ about her romantically since Hogwarts. But she was a comfortable constant in his life. Sometimes she made him forget; sometimes she seemed like the only person who understood; sometimes she annoyed him so much he wanted to strangle her. But whatever he felt, she was always there.

He knew they were in the middle of a war, and he knew that people died, but somehow it never occurred to him that she could be one of those people.


	3. Either Him or You

_Happened every time, so it must be true,  
Where did you learn it's either him or you?_

_-Guster, "Either Way"_

iii. Peter

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop.

It had been an accident, more than anything else. The flat was crowded, and he'd slipped into the kitchen to find the Butterbeer that Marlene had wanted, and when he'd reappeared in the doorway a moment later, they had been talking about him. He'd drawn back quickly, not wanting to be seen, and listened to the words.

"Peter is just so _different_ from the three of you."

That had been Cynthia's comment.

"Different? Different how?"

That had been Remus' reply.

"The four of you are… oh, Merlin, this is going to sound awful. But you're just so… so much bigger than you should be. I mean, Sirius and James are gregarious, they fill up every room they are in and always take the spotlight whether they mean to or not. And you – you're quieter, but you're still… I see why you are a Marauder. You're smart, yes, but you're also recklessly stupid and brave and… I guess Peter always seemed… oh, I don't know. It is easy to overlook him, I guess."

That had been Cynthia's explanation.

Peter hadn't wanted to hear the rest. There wasn't a point, really, because Cynthia hadn't said anything that he himself hadn't thought a thousand times before. He was different from the other three – the other four, if you counted Lily.

But the fact that he hadn't wanted to hear any more made no difference, because he hadn't been able to convince his feet to move away from the doorway. So now he was stuck here, holding the Butterbeer and listening to the words that he so desperately wanted to ignore.

"Peter is different," Remus agreed, "but he's still our friend."

"I know," Cynthia's voice answered, her words rushed as though to make it clear that she didn't mean to imply that Peter was anything other than a Marauder. "And he's a good friend, anyone can see that. I've just always wondered _how_ you ended up friends with him. Was it… was it just proximity? All four of you shared a dormitory so you became friends?"

Cynthia, Peter had to remind himself, had always been a bit superficial. Not in the vapid sense - she was book smart and quite good at Charms and Potions. And she'd always been a good friend to Lily and Marlene, and even James, but she put so much emphasis on looks and popularity and... she didn't always see past the first layer of a person or a situation. She took what she saw or heard at face value and just didn't...

Peter let out a breath. It didn't matter. Cynthia had always been nice to him, and he shouldn't be entertaining such uncharitable thoughts about her.

Even if she was someone who didn't often think through the implications of her words, who was too blunt and too brash, who didn't realize that some of the things she said might be construed as unwelcome and hurtful.

And, anyway, he couldn't fault her for caring about popularity; he and his own friends had cared about that themselves.

Still he waited in silence for Remus' answer.

Remus didn't reply right away, but then he said finally, "Maybe. I don't know. I guess I never really thought about it. Peter is my friend and the how… well, the how doesn't really seem to matter anymore."

"Hm…" Cynthia murmured.

Peter tried to muster up some warmth and gratitude at Remus' words, but he found that they left him feeling hollow instead. Remus was one of his three best friends – Remus was practically _family_ – and yet he couldn't explain why they were friends?

Somehow _we just are friends_ didn't seem good enough.

"Do you know how you ended up being friends with Lily and Marlene and Mary?" Remus asked.

"Marlene and I bonded over boys and gossip, and Lily and I bonded over her passion and enthusiasm for… well, everything. Lily draws people to her, you know. Her personality is the kind that you just – you just _want_ to be friends with her."

"Yeah, I know."

"But Mary… I'm _not_ friends with her. I like her well enough, but we don't spend time together unless Lily is there. We don't have anything in common, not even academic interests. Just because Mary and I were in the same dormitory didn't make us friends. After all, if that was enough, I would have been friends with Isabeli. We _all_ would be friends with Isabeli, but she spent all of her time with Ravenclaws." There was a pause, then Cynthia added, "But I _know_ what I like about Lily and Marlene. Do you know what you like about Peter?"

Remus didn't answer, and Peter continued standing there, clutching the Butterbeer and wishing someone would explain why the other three Marauders were friends with him.

* * *

The party had been in honor of James and Lily's unborn child. Sirius had insisted on throwing it, and his flat was crowded, and everyone was slightly drunk. The air was filled with laughter and jokes and the occasional out-of-tune singing as the guests scrambled to outdo each other. As though if they could just manage to be _loud enough_, everything else would fade away.

Everyone wanted something to celebrate.

After the Butterbeer had been safely deposited in Marlene's hands, Peter withdrew to the corner of the room and let his gaze wander over everyone gathered there. Lily was talking to Alice Longbottom, who as it turned out was also pregnant. Frank had joined Cynthia and Remus, and Emmaline Vance – who Peter had never seen outside of Order meetings – was talking to Mary McDonald and her boyfriend. Caradoc Dearborn was there, engaged in some deep and intellectual-sounding conversation with Gideon Prewitt, while Fabian and Benjy Fenwick both tried – remarkably unsuccessfully – to flirt with Marlene McKinnon.

And James and Sirius were, as usual, in the middle of the room, laughing and joking and waving their arms about in enthusiastic gestures.

It was strange, to be surrounded by friends and allies, and yet feel so awkwardly out of place.

Peter hadn't felt that before. At Hogwarts, he had occasionally wondered how he had been lucky enough to end up as a Marauder – especially when every girl he was interested in seemed to only have eyes for Sirius, or when McGonagall praised James' work and chided his own attempts in the same breath, or when he struggled for hours on an essay that Remus had finished in less than thirty minutes. But although he had wondered about it, he had never actually _felt_ left out.

Things were changing now.

James was sent out on missions that occasionally ended in the arrest of known Death Eaters. Sirius was always out on reconnaissance, and those missions seemed to end in duels quite often. Remus was given top secret responsibilities regarding making contact with other werewolves.

And Peter was sent to the Ministry to listen to politicians _talk_.

He didn't want the excitement – not really. He had never wanted the excitement. He'd enjoyed the aftermath – the parties in the common room after successfully sneaking into Hogsmeade for alcohol, the congratulations from other students after a particularly brilliant prank, or even the feeling of warmth he got every time Remus emerged from yet another full moon without a scratch on his body. And he'd enjoyed the sense of belonging, the feeling that he was a part of this.

But in the actual moment, slipping through shadows under James' invisibility cloak, or when moonlight illuminated Remus's fangs just after he'd transformed… Peter hadn't feel the same exhilaration that James and Sirius so clearly did.

He'd mostly felt fear.

And the stakes were higher now. Or perhaps it was just that he was finally realizing how high the stakes actually were, because although they had never admitted to it while in school, those monthly runs under the full moon hadn't exactly been _safe_.

So it wasn't the excitement he missed.

Now, when James came back from a successful mission, Sirius would laugh and clap him on the back and make some comment about how they would send all the Death Eaters to Azkaban. And whenever Sirius stumbled into James and Lily's flat, his hair matted with sweat and his face flushed with adrenaline, and declared that he'd tracked down yet another potential Death Eater, James would laugh and propose a toast to the Order. And when Remus returned from a mission, James, Sirius, and Lily would all converge upon him – James and Sirius trying to ply him with alcohol and Lily insisting that he eat something because he looked too thin, and the four of them seemed like a family.

When Peter repeated what he'd heard at the Ministry, the only one who ever seemed to care was Dumbledore.

He didn't belong. He wasn't a part of this.

And now Remus couldn't even explain why they were friends.

"Hey, Peter."

Peter glanced up in surprise as Alice leaned against the wall next to him with an easy smile. He hadn't heard her approach, and when he scanned the room again, Lily was nowhere to be seen.

Neither was James.

Alice followed his gaze, correctly guessed his thoughts, and said with a wan smile, "Maybe they've gone off to practice for the second baby."

Peter managed a slight smile at that, but somehow doubted that it was the case. James and Lily just seemed a little… off… somehow. No one else had noticed it, as far as Peter could tell. But he saw it. He caught it in glimpses – in the way Lily's lips pressed together in a frown, in the way James turned from her to talk to Sirius instead – so quick and so fleeting that he sometimes wondered if he'd imagined it.

Alice rested her hands lightly on her stomach, and Peter asked, "When are you due?"

"Around the same time as Lily," Alice said. "The end of July." She frowned for a moment, then added, "I'm glad Sirius decided to have this party. Frank has been so busy with his responsibilities as an Auror and for the Order that we just haven't had time to plan anything, but… it's good to celebrate. It's good to remember that there _are_ good things in the world."

"Hmm," Peter said noncommittally.

They'd celebrated New Year's just a few weeks before, and the party would have gone long into the night if Death Eaters hadn't chosen that particular day to launch a brutal attack in Muggle London. The party had quickly dispersed and the day had ended in dueling and several visits to St. Mungo's, though thankfully no deaths.

Peter glanced around and thought that it really wouldn't surprise him if this party ended in disaster as well.

He didn't know what else to say to Alice. She was a few years older than him, so they'd never spoken before he joined the Order. She always seemed so much more _adult_ than any of his friends. She wasn't severe and demanding like McGonagall; nor was she doting and motherly like Molly Weasley. But the way she carried herself with authority and confidence – far more subtle than James and Sirius' exuberance and yet somehow even more compelling – made her intimidating to him.

Frank was even worse.

But then, perhaps it was just that they were both Aurors, and Peter had seen them duel, and he knew that they were far more powerful than they seemed.

Sirius abruptly launched into a drunken rendition of the Hogwarts School Song, and Alice rolled her eyes but gave a fond smile.

"He does like the spotlight, doesn't he?" she murmured.

"Yes," Peter said, and was surprised to find that he couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Alice didn't appear to notice.

"Well, if it makes him happy… He needs things to cheer him up." She shook her head, a look of pity passing through her features. "I can't imagine being sent of reconnaissance missions," she continued. "Having to sit there, waiting for backup…" She trailed off with a sigh.

Peter nodded, and said nothing.

They were both silent for a moment, then Alice glanced around the room and commented, "Cynthia, Mary, and Mary's boyfriend are the only ones not in the Order. And they're all Lily's friends. Doesn't James have any friends not in the Order?"

Peter blinked, then shook his head. "No, I guess not. But how would he? All he does now is work for the Order; where is he going to make friends if not at our meetings?" He paused, then added, "Anyway, I don't think it would occur to James to make friends with someone not in the Order. If they're not fighting for our side…"

James saw the world in black and white, and people could be easily divided into two categories: those who fought the Dark Arts and those who didn't.

And James did not like people who fell into the latter group.

"You know a lot about your friends," Alice commented. "You understand them well. You understand _people_ well." She gave him a scrutinizing look, then added, "I see why Dumbledore wants you at the Ministry. You really are quite perceptive."

Peter smiled – a true, honest smile. For the first time, someone other than Dumbledore had seen the importance in _his_ missions.

In the center of the room, Sirius tripped over a chair and went tumbling to the ground, and everyone, including Alice, burst into laughter and converged on him to make sure he was right.

Peter stood at the outside of the group and watched.

Sirius pulled himself to his feet, laughing along with everyone else. His words were slurred together, and his face was flushed, and his eyes were bright and filled with enthusiasm. It was an expression that reminded Peter so much of the Sirius he had known at Hogwarts, the one who still believed that everything was a joke and the entire point of life was to have fun. _That_ Sirius had been full of laughter and pranks… but the war had changed him.

The war had changed everyone.

"Pettigrew, right? Peter Pettigrew?"

Peter jerked his head up and stared in surprise at the blonde man now standing next to him. He'd been so lost in his own bitter thoughts that he hadn't even heard the other man approach.

"Yeah. You're… um… Cafferty? John Cafferty?"

John nodded and stuck out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Peter shook the offered hand and couldn't help but wonder – somewhat uncharitably – why John was talking to him instead of standing around Sirius and laughing like everyone else.

"It's a bit overwhelming," John said. "I… uh… I'm still not really used to this. To magic."

Peter blinked. He'd forgotten that Mary was dating a Muggle.

"Is this your first time meeting Mary's friends?" Peter asked curiously.

"I met Lily once before," John answered, 'but other than that…" He trailed off and glanced around the room. He had a bemused smile plastered to his face, but Peter caught a glimpse of the unease that flickered through his eyes, and couldn't help but wonder why Mary had brought her boyfriend to the party. Muggle's had to be slowly introduced to magic or they'd end up reacting badly to it; history had enough evidence of that in its witch burnings. Quite apart from the fact that it violated the Statue of Secrecy, bringing John to a party like this just seemed so…

"It is really serious between the two of you," Peter said with dawning realization. "You and Mary… that's why you came tonight. To meet all of us because you and she are…"

"I bought a ring," John confided, lowering his voice and glancing around quickly to make sure they would not be overheard. "But don't tell anyone, alright? I haven't asked her yet. I haven't really planned out how I want to do it, but… well, I'm pretty sure that she knows that I am going to ask her soon."

And he was wearing that same goofy smile that had graced James' features for the few weeks after Lily had finally agreed to date him, and then again right after the two had gotten engaged, as well as the night when James had told them all that Lily was pregnant.

Peter smiled. "Congratulations," he said, at meant it. But a part of him couldn't help but wonder if he would ever find someone who felt that way about him.

John answered with a half-shrug and looked around the room again. "Your friends are very… loud."

Peter almost laughed at that. "Yes," he agreed flatly.

"I prefer the sidelines, too," John said, clapping Peter on the shoulder in what was clearly meant to be a gesture of solidarity. "It is much more enjoyable to watch everyone else making a fool of themselves than to actually join in."

"Mm…" Peter said, biting the inside of his cheek. A wave of resentment rushed through him at the assumption that he never wanted the attention, but he forced it away. He _didn't_ want the excitement… not really.

John didn't notice that anything was amiss, and continued, "I'm actually surprised that Mary is such good friends with all of you." He seemed to realize that the comment could be interpreted as an insult, and hurried on to say, "Not, of course, that there is anything wrong with being loud, but Mary is… well, _quiet_. I just can't imagine her ever standing in the center of a crowd, singing."

As if on cue, Sirius burst into song again – a drunken rendition of _A Hard Day's Night_.

"The Beatles," John commented, turning away from Peter and glancing towards Sirius with his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, Sirius is a fan," Peter replied. "He used to sing them all the time in the dormitory at Hogwarts. I never really liked them, but…" He stopped abruptly, and didn't finish the thought – that Sirius rarely cared about other people's opinions.

He sighed. He had to stop doing this, had to stop finding the negative in everything anyone said or did. Sirius was his friend, and even if there had been aggravating or hurtful moments in the past – well, didn't every friendship have that? James, and Remus, too… they'd always stood by each other, stood up for each other, no matter what.

But the war had seeped into his mind, poisoning his thoughts.

And Cynthia's words – _do you know what you like about Peter?_ – and Remus' silence…

John looked around. "Where are Potter and Lily?" he asked. "I haven't seen them for a while."

Peter scanned the room and noted that, sure enough, the two guests of honor were still not present.

"I'll go find them," he offered, in part eager for a chance to escape the conversation and in part wondering whether or not anyone would notice if he disappeared, too.

* * *

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop.

But the sound of Lily's raised voice, tinted with anger and exasperation, caught his attention, and he froze in the hallway. Lily and James were standing in Sirius' room, and the door was partially open, allowing Peter to clearly hear their argument.

"…but it isn't the _point_, James."

"You're exaggerating, Lily," came James' response, his tone soothing and calm.

If anything, that seemed to annoy Lily more. "Don't patronize me!" she snapped.

Peter edged closer to the room, careful to stay pressed against the wall so that he would not be seen. It felt wrong to be spying on his own friends like this, but he was too curious to back away now. James and Lily might have had their fair share of fights and squabbles, but this was different.

Peter had recognized the tone Lily had just used, and it was one he had not heard since his first five years at Hogwarts.

Back when Lily had actually vehemently disliked James.

"Lily, please… let's not fight about this tonight."

"Then when, James? You're never around to actually _talk_. You're always rushing off to the next mission, the next plan to capture Death Eaters and… Merlin, I don't even… you don't… you don't _get_ it," Lily stumbled over the last words, and Peter could hear the helpless frustration in her voice.

"Get what?" James asked, but there was no reply from Lily. "Lily, come on… don't be like this."

"Fine," came Lily's clipped reply. "Go back to the party, James. Go have _fun_."

The sound of angry footsteps reverberating on the wood forced Peter to jump away from the wall. He had only a moment to compose himself before Lily came storming out of the room, James trailing behind her with a bewildered expression on his face. They both froze at the sight of him, but Peter just smiled as though he hadn't heard the argument at all.

"Was just looking for you two," he said, cheerfully. "You're the guests of honor, after all, you can't just disappear."

"I'm sure Padfoot managed to entertain the group fairly well," James said. He paused, glancing past Peter towards the main room in the flat and frowned. "Is he _still_ singing?"

"Yeah, he hasn't really stopped. Not even when he fell headfirst off the chair he was using as a stage."

James smiled in amusement, but Lily rolled her eyes with a huff and stalked past the two boys. James' expression changed to one of annoyance before he sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Is everything alright, Prongs?" Peter asked.

He already knew the answer to the question, but somehow he wanted to hear James admit it. He wanted to hear weakness from his friend, wanted to hear that James' life wasn't as perfect as it appeared to everyone standing on the outside. He wanted James to say that things were challenging, that they were facing difficult times, that he was struggling…

He wanted to know that he wasn't the only one this war was slowly destroying.

But James just smiled, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "Of course, Wormy. I'm going to be a father. Everything is perfect." Then he stepped around Peter and followed his wife down the hallway.

Peter watched him go for a moment, unable to keep the bitterness at bay. Then he rubbed at his eyes and hurried after James.

He entered the living room in time to see Sirius grin at James and Lily and shout out, "Another toast! To Prongs and Morgana and their little James Jr. or Jamesella!"

James laughed and draped his arm over Lily's shoulders as the room burst into drunken cheers and congratulations. Lily tilted her head to look up at James, and she smiled, and he smiled in response.

Peter stared at them and wondered if he was the only one who could see the strain in Lily's expression and the uneasiness in James' eyes.


	4. But Your Dreams May Not

_But take your time, think a lot  
Why, think of everything you've got  
For you will still be here tomorrow  
But your dreams may not  
- Cat Stevens, "Father and Son"_

iv. Remus

"Tell me about these so-called friends of yours."

Remus glanced around the home – hovel, really, because it wasn't much more than that – before turning his attention back to the woman who had spoken. She looked old in years - her hair was a mass of corkscrew red curls streaked with silver and gray, and her pale skin was lined with wrinkles - but there was a different oldness about her as well, one related to the hardships, not the years, that she had endured. Her eyes had circles as dark as bruises underneath them, and she stared at him warily.

"They're not so-called," Remus said as he took the seat opposite his host. "They really are my friends. They know what I am and they still accept me."

"For now. Give it time, Mr. Lupin." She smiled faintly, bitterly. "I had friends once, too. Just give it time."

"Mrs. Rubrum," Remus said. "Do you really think Voldemort can offer you anything you actually want?"

Cana Rubrum flinched slightly at Voldemort's name and averted her gaze for a moment.

Then she said, "And can _you_ offer me anything I actually want?"

Moody had set up this meeting. Voldemort was recruiting werewolves, capitalizing on the discrimination and prejudice that ran rampant in England. He was clearly hoping to turn their anger and impotent fury into something dangerous, something he could use, and Moody and Dumbledore were both worried he would succeed. It was clear that they needed to reach out to the werewolves, to offer them alternatives to Voldemort's promises.

And yet…

When Moody had approached Remus with this assignment, he had accepted it without question, but now that he was actually here, he had no idea what to say.

Mrs. Rubrum gave a chilly smile in response to his silence and said, "Do you remember being bitten?"

"Not really," Remus admitted slowly, curious as to why she was asking. No one ever asked about the bite - no one except James, Sirius, and Peter... and later Lily. "I was young, just a child. I don't… I remember pain. And fear. And… the smell of blood."

"I was thirty-four when I was bitten," the old woman said with a heaviness in her words. "It seems a lifetime ago, but I remember." She stared down at her hands folded in her lap. Her joints were swollen and her skin was mottled with brown age spots.

Again, Remus didn't know what to say.

But it did not appear that he was required to say anything, because Mrs. Rubrum continued, "The same werewolf that turned me killed my husband. I woke up in St. Mungo's covered in bandages, and I could see the truth in every Healers' gaze. I could tell by the way they looked away from me so quickly, the way they pulled back when I reached for them… That was when I knew that my life was over."

"I'm sorry," Remus murmured, though he was unsure if he was expressing regret for her husband's death or her own suffering.

"Yes," she answered bitterly. "Sorry. Everyone was always _sorry_." She looked up at him, catching him in the intensity of her gaze. "Both my parents were purebloods – or close enough to it that no one could tell the difference. My husband was a half-blood, but respectable enough. And all of them – my parents and my in-laws – claimed that they did not care about blood purity. That it was all nonsense, that it didn't matter, that Muggles and Muggleborns weren't any less worthy of our respect. They were so noble, so righteous… and then I turned."

She rose unsteadily to her feet, gripping her chair for support, and continued in a voice heavily laden with derision and old pain, "They were sorry for what had happened to me, for my suffering. But they could barely stand to stay in the same room with me. I saw the fear on their faces when they looked at me. My parents starting warding their bedroom against me even when it wasn't the full moon. Just to be safe, they said. Just as a precaution." Her voice twisted even further, dripping with sarcasm. "But not because they didn't love me, not because I meant less to them." She shook her head and laughed, a bitter sound that made Remus instinctively flinch. "And they were always so very _sorry_."

Remus knew there was no appropriate response to her words.

His parents loved him – he had never once doubted that. They loved him, but his lycanthropy took its toll on their relationship. His mother had always tried to do what was best for him growing up, and some lessons had been painful to learn. But they had been equally painful for her, and he knew the burden his condition placed on her shoulders. And sometimes, when she thought he was looking, he'd seen the resentment flash through her eyes.

This was not the life she had expected. This was not the life she had planned. Even if she never blamed him for it, it was still his lycanthropy that had slowly ruined her life.

She never said the words aloud, but the sentiment was there, in the tense silence and growing distance between them.

And nothing anyone said would ever make Remus feel better about that.

After a moment of silence, Mrs. Rubrum sighed and said, "My friends, too, started drifting away. They were there for me, in the beginning. But then… some, I think, worried that I might attack their families, their children. Others felt a friendship with a werewolf was too much of a liability. It took only a year or two and then they were gone, and I was alone." She gave him a searching look. "Yours will do the same."

"They won't," Remus said firmly. "They think prejudice against werewolves is wrong. That's part of the reason they're fighting Voldemort."

"Because they think You Know Who is the only one who ever discriminated against part-humans?" she scoffed.

"No… but if he keeps his power, he certainly isn't going to give us any."

"_No one_ is going to give us power, Mr. Lupin." She limped away from him, towards the grimy window that looked out over the smog filled city air. "Your friends think they can change the world. But tell me, have they ever experienced prejudice themselves? Do they know what it is like to be called a monster?"

"One of my friends was disowned by his family because he refused to accept their pureblood ideology," Remus said stoutly. "I think he has proven that he is committed to this fight."

"I see. So he became an outcast because of this? He had no friends, no job, no money, no support…?"

Remus didn't answer. Sirius was hardly an outcast. He'd been popular at Hogwarts, and though his own family had disowned him, he had ended up simply trading them in for the Potters. He had his uncle's money, the constant support of James' family, and the friendship of many Gryffindors and even some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

Which was not to imply that breaking all ties with his family had been easy. Even though Sirius laughed and declared that he was better off without them, Remus knew that their treatment of him still _hurt_.

"Do your friends know what it is like to be overlooked, forgotten, ignored?" Mrs. Rubrum turned back from the window and looked at him. "Overshadowed?"

Everything always seemed to come easily to James and Sirius. But Peter…

Well.

Mrs. Rubrum gave him a weary smile and hobbled back towards her chair. "I am tired, Mr. Lupin. I have no intention of joining You Know Who's ranks. I take no joy in murder or in causing pain. But I am _tired_. You tell me to fight, and I have to ask you: why bother? I can never be as good as anyone else."

Remus carefully considered all his possible answers, but then found himself saying, "A friend of mine… he isn't really in the same… league… as my other friends. Not with looks, not with smarts, not with popularity. These things don't come easily to him, and he doesn't usually succeed at obtaining them. But even if he never reaches those goals, he still never stops _fighting_ for them. He doesn't take the easy way out."

Mrs. Rubrum nodded. "And tell me, what exactly is it that I would be fighting for? Can you offer me my life back? Can you take away the decades of loneliness and pain? Can you even promise me a future filled with equal rights and tolerance for our kind?" When Remus said nothing, she sank into her chair once more and asked, "Why should I fight when I can't possibly hope to gain anything from it?" She shook her head. "Your friend is a better person than I am, Mr. Lupin. Or perhaps he simply isn't _tired enough_ yet."

* * *

"_Shut up_!"

It all happened so fast. One moment they were standing around the table talking, and the next moment Sirius was lunging forward and punching Edgar Bones in the face. The older man doubled over and clutched at his nose, and then Sirius was punching him again and again.

Moody lunged forward and physically dragged Sirius off of Bones. "Enough, Black!" the Auror growled. "_Stop it_."

"Bloody prat deserved it," Sirius hissed, wrenching himself free of Moody's grip. He turned towards Remus, and the werewolf met his gaze tiredly. He could see how furious Sirius was, but he just didn't know what to do about it.

It wasn't like these accusations were entirely baseless.

"Padfoot…" he started.

Sirius shook his head. "Don't," he said shortly, tersely. "Just don't." He paused for a moment, breathing heavily, before he asked, "How can you just sit there and let him say something like that?"

Bones rose unsteadily back to his feet, his fingers pressed against his nose to slow the flow of blood. He glared unapologetically at Sirius and Remus, his expression sour. "All I said, Black," he snarled, "was that You Know Who had made a point of recruiting werewolves."

"All you said?" Sirius repeated. "And it just so happened that you brought that up in a conversation about spies in the Order? And it was a coincidence that you happened to be looking right at Remus when you said it?"

"That is enough," Moody interrupted again, and this time he drew his wand. But he didn't really need that extra threat – the anger in his voice was enough to quell the argument. No one wanted to go up against Moody when he was wearing _that_ particular expression and talking with _that_ particular tone.

Bones slunk backwards. "Fine," he muttered. "If you're not interested in what I have to say…"

"Go get yourself cleaned up and go home," Moody said firmly, and Bones did not argue. Instead, he spun around and stalked from the room.

Remus watched him go in silence, then looked over at Sirius.

"And you, Black," Moody was growling furiously, "what in Merlin's name did you think you were doing?"

"Standing up for a friend," Sirius shot back. Although Remus was fairly certain that Sirius wouldn't go after Bones again under Moody's watchful eye, that didn't mean he was going to apologize for his actions.

"I don't tolerate fighting within the Order," Moody said.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "And I don't tolerate people accusing my friends of being a traitor!" he retorted.

"Sirius, please just let it go," Remus said.

"Let it go?" Sirius repeated, and Remus shrank back slightly at Sirius' furious glare. "How can I? _Someone_ has to stand up for you since you _clearly_ won't do it for yourself!"

"I can fight this battle myself," Remus replied quietly.

"Fight it?" Sirius practically spat out the words, and his tone was downright mocking. "You're not doing a bloody thing! How is standing there letting some tosser like Bones heap abuse on you _fighting the battle_?"

"All he said was that Voldemort was recruiting werewolves, and we know that is true," Remus defended himself. It was a weak defense – pathetic, really – because Bones had _clearly_ meant his comment to be more than just a statement of fact. He _had_ been accusing Remus of betraying them, and everyone knew it.

Sirius shook his head in disbelief and stormed out of the room.

Remus closed his eyes, wishing this entire nightmare could just be over. But the war was very real, and so was his lycanthropy, this wasn't something that would end simply by him waking up.

"You'd better get Black under control, Lupin," he heard Moody say gruffly, and then he felt the old Auror pat him on the shoulder. "Or I'll chuck him out."

Remus started, snapping open his eyes, and swiveled his head to look at Moody in shock. "You'd kick him out of the Order?" he demanded incredulously. He was surprised… and angry. Sirius was rash, yes, and sometimes reckless, but he was willing to fight the rising darkness and chaos when so few others were. They couldn't afford to lose someone like that.

And for what? Defending his friend against an implied accusation? Edgar Bones was a bitter, prejudiced man, and he had made his feelings about werewolves clear long ago – without ever giving Remus a _chance_.

Moody couldn't possibly _believe_ Bones' accusations… could he?

Moody seemed to be able to sense all of this churning in Remus' mind, because he said sharply, "And I'll kick Bones out as well, if I have to. But I won't tolerate infighting."

"He was defending me. Bones' accusations were completely unfounded," Remus said angrily, even though only moments earlier he had been the one telling Sirius to let it go.

Moody's hard expression did not soften in the slightest. "And I'll talk to Bones about that," he said gruffly. There was a note of warning in his voice as he added, "But Lupin, I can only keep him and the others from saying things in the meeting. I can't keep people from talking outside. So you'd better tell Black he needs to learn to use words instead of fists."

The unfairness of it all was galling. Yes, Remus knew that he would always have to deal with people's suspicions and disgust. He was a werewolf, and nothing would ever change that. But he and Bones were on the same side of this battle, so was it really that unreasonable to expect a little trust from a supposed ally?

Was it really unreasonable to expect some support from Moody?

But he said none of that. What would be the point? Moody had made up his mind already, and it was clear from the steely glint in his eye that he was not going to change his opinion on the matter.

"You tell Black… he either gets his temper under control, or he leaves," Moody said.

* * *

Predictably, the conversation did not go well.

Remus started with, "Padfoot, I do appreciate that you want to stand up for me, but you need to stop hitting people who disagree with you," and Sirius put his fist through the wall.

* * *

"You look horrible," Cynthia announced as she sank down next to Remus on the stiff chair in the hallway at St. Mungo's.

'Thank you, Cynthia," Remus replied, sarcasm lightly lining his words.

Marlene had been injured during a surprise attack in Diagon Alley. She had insisted that she was fine, that it was only a broken arm and a few bruises and she could take care of herself, but Dumbledore didn't want her left alone, and Remus had volunteered to wait for the Healers to finish with her and then escort her home.

"You do, though," Cynthia said.

"Not all of us can look as perfectly put-together as you always do," Remus countered.

Cynthia smiled brilliantly, flashing even white teeth. Even in the middle of a war that made her work at St. Mungo's absolutely hectic, she still found the time to style her hair so that not a single strand was out of place, to brush eye shadow over her lids and a hint of color on her cheeks, to pick out stylishly cut robes accentuated with blue lining to match her eyes.

But the smile faded as she studied him. "Have you been sleeping?" she pressed.

"I didn't get much sleep last night," Remus admitted, knowing it would be pointless to pretend that everything was fine. She could see the dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his skin. And Marlene was in the hospital, and Dumbledore believed that she had been deliberately targeted during the attack, probably because of her association with the Order.

But he didn't want to say all that aloud, and he did not want to add that he was losing sleep over his argument with Sirius and Cana Rubrum's words.

So he opted instead for, "Lily's baby started kicking, and James showed up at three in the morning to tell me about it."

Cynthia blinked. "Once an idiot, always an idiot," she muttered under her breath, but she was grinning again.

"Yes, yes he is," Remus agreed. "But he's excited. Last week he sent me a list of things he expects from me once the baby is born." Remus smiled fondly at the memory and said, "In case you're wondering, the first thing on the list was not to let my _boring book-reading habits_ rub off on the child."

"With Lily as the mother… good luck keeping that kid away from books," Cynthia replied. She hesitated for a moment, then said softly, "Marlene told me that you and Sirius got into an argument."

Remus flattened his lips into a thin line and looked away. He knew that the three girls – Lily, Marlene, and Cynthia – were close and he knew that they _talked_. Despite Cynthia's exclusion from the Order, Marlene and Lily would still share with her absolutely everything they could, and that apparently included his argument with Sirius.

"It's nothing," he said hollowly. It wasn't the first argument he'd had with Sirius, and it wouldn't be the last. They'd argued all the time at Hogwarts, but the stakes were higher now and the arguments hurt more.

Cynthia raised an eyebrow. "Of course," she said, but didn't sound convinced.

Remus changed the subject, "How is Marlene?" And he jerked his head towards the door behind them.

"Almost ready to go," Cynthia replied. "She says to tell you that the break was worse than expected and they had to actually regrow some of the bone, so she's sorry you had to wait. But she'll be out soon."

"There's really no rush," Remus muttered, rolling his eyes. "I can wait for as long as she needs."

Cynthia nodded, a look of concern passing through her eyes as she glanced back towards the door to Marlene's hospital room. Everything was fine - Remus knew that Cynthia would not lie to him about that, even if Marlene begged her to, but she was still upset that her friend had been hurt. Remus wondered if she worried this much about all her patients, or just the ones that she knew.

Cynthia sighed and cleared her throat, then turned back to Remus and said in a low voice, "There was an attack outside of Edinburgh. My uncle Isaac said one of his competitors shops was destroyed."

Remus nodded. "Yesterday," he agreed uneasily. "They targeted the stores of wealthy Muggleborns. I heard there was a lot of property damage, but no one died." It was difficult to have these conversations, to tread the thin line between what he could say to her and what would be considered inside information from the Order.

"Yes, that's what Isaac said. No deaths… I guess they got lucky."

Voldemort and his Death Eaters had mostly carried out brutal actions so far. The attacks – targeted assassinations or larger chaotic rampages – were bloody and vicious and left dead and injured witches and wizards in their wake. Voldemort might have risen out of nowhere, coming to cruel power without much warning for the general population, but his followers were not subtle.

Sometimes Remus thought Voldemort didn't actually want to take over the country so much as he merely wanted to watch everything burn.

He glanced around the hospital. St. Mungo's was busy, as it had been since the beginning of the war.

"My sister wants to come back home," Cynthia said, "but Mother won't hear of it. She thinks Celia is safer in Germany."

_She probably is_, Remus thought, but he didn't say the words aloud. Voldemort's reign of terror had only begun to seep into the Continent, and Germany was still relatively protected from the violence that plagued the British Isles. But the Connolly family wasn't much of a target anyway, and though Celia Connolly was safer in Germany, it was doubtful Voldemort would attack her if she did decide to move back home.

"Celia's adamant, though," Cynthia continued. "She's nearly twenty-seven; Mother can't tell her what to do. Something she has _insisted_ on reminding Mother with every owl she sends." Her expression was distant, as though she was remembering something, as she added, "I think she'd like to help. She's brilliant with bureaucracy. She'd been an asset to the Ministry, and Merlin knows the Ministry needs all the help it can get right now."

"I'm sure it does," Remus agreed, though privately he wondered about that. Voldemort was causing havoc on the administration, but the Ministry had been corrupt and ineffectual long before the war. Would restoring peace change that, or would it simply send the Ministry back to what it had once been?

"Not that Mother cares about that. Ever since Dad died, she's been terrified of losing one of us, and with Charles and I both here in London, she had at least been able to take comfort in the knowledge that Celia was safely out of the way." She shrugged, and gave a faint, bittersweet smile. "They both mean well, but the argument is… well, it is all I can do not to get dragged into the middle of it."

"Wow… being stuck in the middle of an argument between two people you care about. I wonder what that's like," Remus said sarcastically.

Cynthia laughed. "You think your friends are bad?," she said dismissively. "My mother's temper makes James and Sirius both look like little angels. And Celia's not much better."

"I don't believe that," Remus said flatly.

She flipped her blonde hair over one shoulder and winked. "Then you'll just have to come to Ireland one day and meet her. She's always asking me if I've met a nice young gentleman. You can pretend to be my boyfriend and buy me a few months of peace from her nagging."

"Maybe when the war is over," Remus answered, wondering how she could so quickly switch from a subdued conversation about the war to her incessant lighthearted flirting. Sometimes he wondered if she truly comprehended how horrible things were - or did she simply manage to forget about all the atrocities when they weren't directly in front of her?

It was an uncharitable thought, but a valid one nonetheless.

"I'm holding you to that," Cynthia said. She glanced over her shoulder towards the hallway that stretched out behind them. "I need to get back to work. Tell Marlene I'll stop by to see her when I'm off my shift, and to please take it easy and rest." She paused. "And you, too. Get some sleep."

"I will," Remus replied, "I promise."

He doubted that was a promise he would be able to keep.

* * *

"He wants what is best for you, Moony," James said as he flopped onto the sofa next to Remus.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Punching Bones in the face isn't what is best for me," he countered.

James shrugged carelessly. "I would have done the same," he said, his tone colored by frustration. "Edgar Bones is a sour old man who might not believe in pureblood supremacy but _is_ still prejudiced."

"I know," Remus agreed. "Which is why his accusations aren't a bit deal. It's not like anyone believes him." He caught the skeptical look on James' face and said, "No one who actually _matters_ believes him. Dumbledore doesn't, and neither do Moody or McGonagall."

But even as he said the words, he wasn't sure he believed them. Yes, Dumbledore and McGonagall trusted him, but did Moody?

Moody had never shied away from giving him information that was pertinent to his missions, nor had he indicated that he _didn't_ trust Remus. In fact, he'd been the one to suggest that Remus contact some of the werewolves known to be living in London in the hopes of getting to them before Voldemort did. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't trust Remus.

But he also wasn't defending Remus against Bones' accusations. Not that Remus had expected him to, but…

It would have been nice.

"It's not just that," James argued, pulling Remus from his thoughts. "You don't stand up for yourself. There is no reason to just stand there and let Bones say whatever he wants."

Remus gritted his teeth. "Prongs, you know half the Order already thinks Sirius is too reckless. He's not exactly helping matters by attacking people we are supposed to be allied with."

"Maybe we shouldn't be allied with Bones," James grumbled.

Remus shook his head. "You know it isn't that simple. We're fighting a war. We need all the help we can get, and if Bones can help us defeat Voldemort, I am willing to put up with his baseless accusations."

"Yeah, well… I'm _not_," James said stubbornly. "What is the point of winning this war if we lose everything in the process?"

"Lose everything?" Remus scoffed. "James, we didn't have fairness and acceptance of werewolves _before_ the war. We can blame Voldemort for a lot of things, but Bones' opinions…? No, not that."

"And you are content to just accept it?" James demanded.

"We have more important things to fight for and against," Remus pointed out reasonably.

"No, we _don't_!" James practically seethed. "We're not just fighting _against_ Voldemort, Moony. We're fighting _for_ something – for a better world, a better future. Compromising our beliefs to fight the Death Eaters is _wrong_. Defeating Voldemort shouldn't come at the cost of everything else we believe in."

"I'm not saying _that_."

"Aren't you? You're so damn sure that it isn't worth fighting this. It's like you won't even _try_ to be seen as more than a werewolf!"

Remus knew it was easy for James to say that. He had everything. He'd _always_ had everything – intelligence, popularity, looks, money, pure blood and the prestige of the Potter name. He had to work for what he wanted, Remus did not deny that. But he never had to compromise, never had to settle for what was second best. It was so simple for him, so very black and white.

But even when this was all over, even when Voldemort was gone and the Death Eaters had been defeated, even then Remus knew he would still face discrimination and disgust.

Nothing could ever make up for what he was.

Cana Rubrum had reminded him of that.

Remus decided to change the subject. "Where's Lily?" he asked, looking around.

"She's at the McKinnons' house," James said, frowning as he glanced towards the window, "checking up on Marlene."

"She's perfectly safe there," Remus offered. James gave him an incredulous look, so he amended, "She's as safe there as she is here."

"I know," James muttered. "I just… worry."

There was something in his eyes, something that Remus couldn't quite place. An unease that had less to do with Lily's safety and more to do with… what?

He pushed the thought away. Whatever it was, he told himself, it had to just be his imagination.

* * *

He wasn't even there, in London, when it happened.

Dumbledore sent him on a mission to find a settlement of werewolves living somewhere in northern England. The mission forced him out of contact with his friends, his allies, everything he had known. For his own safety and for the success of his mission, he hadn't been able to stay in touch with _any_ of them… and by the time he'd learned of the attack, the funeral had come and gone.

Remus stared at the letter. Lily's handwriting scrawled words on parchment, and her tears dotted and blurred the ink, but none of it seemed to register. He knew the words, knew he should understand them, and yet… somehow…

It was wrong, all wrong. These sentences didn't mean anything.

_There was an attack._

He'd said those words, and heard them, many times before. There were always attacks and people died and he _knew_ that. He'd seen it, experienced it, lived it.

But still…

Winter had come early that year, and it stayed late as well. It was even worse here, in the hills and woods, where the cold and damp clung to the air, refusing to give way to spring. The perpetually gray sky was oppressive and the rain was dreary, and his entire life seemed to be crumbling in front of his eyes.

_It came as a surprise to all of us. The Order didn't know._

Remus sat in the inn, holding the letter in his hands as the owl disappeared into the night and tried not to think.

Voldemort was recruiting werewolves.

Edgar Bones thought he was likely to betray them all.

And Cynthia…

He crumbled the letter in his hand, but he could still see those words so very clearly, as though they were etched onto the back of his eyelids. Lily's words, her tears, the splotches of ink…

_Cynthia was killed._

What was the last conversation he'd had with Cynthia? Something pointless about an argument between her sister and her mother and James' overbearing reaction to Lily's pregnancy. Had any of it really mattered? They were just words – exchanged pleasantries and jokes, so _trivial_.

Would he have said something different if he'd known it was the last time he would see her?

He closed his eyes.

Dumbledore had said once that Voldemort feared death more than anything else, and that was one of his greatest weaknesses. The man who enjoyed torture and killing, who tore apart families and destroyed lives for amusement, could not fathom that there was anything worse than death.

Her funeral was over. He'd missed it – hadn't even known she was dead when it happened.

Remus opened his eyes and threw the letter into the fireplace. He got up slowly and walked over to the window. The glass was grimy with fingerprints and the sill thick with dust, and through the pane the night sky seemed distorted. The silhouette of the owl passed in front of the moon as the bird winged its way back to London, back to his friends, back to his home.

But Cynthia wasn't there anymore.

Voldemort was wrong; there were things worse than death.

Dying wasn't easy – but neither was being left behind.


	5. And I'm Still Here

A/N: Last chapter!

* * *

_Love, it has no guarantees  
Which muse will lay its hands on me?  
We said the words, we knocked on wood  
And I'm still here waiting to see what could be  
What if the closest I get to the moment is now?_

_- Katie Herzig, "Closest I Get"_

v. Lily

Emmaline Vance told her that the worst part of pregnancy was the morning sickness. Molly Weasley told her the worst part of pregnancy was the exhaustion. Lenore Tearson told her the worst part of pregnancy was the labor and delivery.

Lily was prepared for the morning sickness. She had ginger root in her kitchen and three different anti-nausea potions by her bedside. She'd warned James that if the smell of certain foods made her sick, those foods were not allowed in the house, no matter how much he liked them. And she bought several packages of breath mints.

She was prepared for the exhaustion, too. She refused to take sleeping potions because those had not been adequately proven to be safe for the unborn child, but she bought a new mattress for her bed, and new sheets and pillows. Mary offered to do housework and Cynthia offered to do the shopping and Marlene insisted that Lily have some time each week to indulge in herself with bubble baths.

She did not know how to prepare for the delivery, but she was convinced that she would make it through. She knew how lucky she was to have James and this unborn child, to have a family, and in the midst of the chaos of war, she told herself the pain of delivery would mean nothing, because she had what mattered most to her and there was nothing she would not do for her family.

But Emmaline, Molly, and Lenore… they were all wrong. The worst part of pregnancy was not the morning sickness, and it was not the exhaustion, and much later on after Harry was born, Lily would be able to say that it was not labor.

It was the waiting she hated, more than anything else.

* * *

"…was just incredible!"

"Of course it was incredible, Prongs. _I _was there. How could it be anything else?"

"Bet we still could have gone faster if you'd let me drive, Padfoot."

"Could not!"

"Want to bet on it?"

Lily closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall as she listened to the sound of her husband's voice floating towards her. She didn't need to see him to know that his face would be flushed with laughter and exhilaration, and his eyes would have that bright look to them. He would look happy, like he used to at Hogwarts before the war.

She let out a breath and slid into a sitting position, pulling her knees into her chest. He'd sent the Patronus earlier in the evening, telling her that the mission had been a success and he and Sirius were going to a pub to celebrate. She'd felt relief crash over her in a powerful wave – relief that he was alive, that no one had been injured, that the Order had actually succeeded at something…

But the relief had faded, and she'd been left with a simmering anger. It had been there for days, or maybe even weeks, months… years? She didn't know. She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when the anger had appeared, but now it was so much a part of her life that she couldn't figure out what she would be without it.

"…got any more of that Firewhiskey Moony gave you for Christmas?"

"Christmas was months ago. And you're already drunk, Padfoot."

"Am not."

"Yes, you are."

"Could a drunk person do this?"

Lily's eyes flew open at the sound of a crash, and something shattering against the floor. She heard Sirius curse under his breath and then James roared with laughter. Sirius had tried to prove he wasn't drunk, and had obviously failed at it.

"Shh…" James whispered after a moment. "Lily is asleep."

The simmering anger flared for just a moment. Did he really think she was asleep? Did he think she _ever_ slept while he was away? How could he be so oblivious to what his absences did to her, to the nights she spent lying awake in bed or pacing back and forth along the floor of her bedroom, waiting for him to come home?

She was always waiting for him. Their child had been an unplanned accident, but after the terror at the realization that she was going to be a mother had faded away, she'd been giddy with excitement. She had been so busy planning for the future that she hadn't thought through what this would mean for her now, and as the pregnancy continued and the war raged on, she found herself being slowly left behind.

She was pregnant, and if she fought it would be risking their baby's life and she couldn't do that. So she just… waited.

She rested her hands on the slight bulge of her stomach and sighed. She wanted this child. She loved him or her already – loved the child so much that it scared her.

But she hated what it was doing to her. The pregnancy and the waiting. The endless waiting.

Waiting for James to come home.

Waiting for the child to be born.

Waiting for news about each mission for the Order.

Waiting for deaths and disappearances reported in the newspaper, waiting for funerals and whispered words of comfort and condolences, waiting for this all to just _end_.

The door swung open and James and Sirius stumbled through. James stopped, his face lighting up like it always did when he saw her, and she wished she could return the sentiment. But the most she could muster was a smile that she knew lacked any warmth.

He didn't seem to notice, and that was the first clue that he was more than a little tipsy. He was usually so much better at picking up on her moods, even if he didn't know what to do about any of them.

Even if he didn't know what to do about _anything_ anymore.

"Lily," he said, taking a step towards here, her name slurring on his tongue. He was grinning stupidly and she wanted to slap the smile from his face.

"You had to go to the pub? You couldn't just have come home?" she demanded, her words sharp. She hated how it sounded, hated that she'd somehow fallen into the stereotype of the shrill housewife who was constantly berating her husband, but she didn't know how to stop.

She watched as he reeled backwards, still sober enough to tell that she was upset. With him. And then she saw the confusion play across his features, and the hurt. He was giving her a wounded puppy look, one that quite clearly conveyed that he had no idea what he'd done wrong.

She climbed to her feet.

"Lily?" James asked, half-walking and half-stumbling towards her. "Lily, I'm sorry…"

"Madam le Fey!" Sirius interupted boisterously, using that ridiculous nickname that she only barely tolerated.

"You're drunk," she snapped at him.

"Nah," Sirius protested, grinning like an idiot. "I can hold m' liquor."

Lily turned away.

"Lily, come on," James said, pleading. "I'm sorry." He reached out and caught her arm, the warmth of his fingers a stark contrast to her cold skin. "I… we… we stopped an attack, Lily. We caught a Death Eater, Lily."

_Lily, Lily, Lily._

She wrenched her arm free from his grip, the force of the movement causing them both to lose their balance. She was so damn tired of this; of the missions and the bloody war, of Remus' distance and Peter's silence, of the way Sirius smiled when he was drunk, of the sound of her name repeatedly falling from James' lips.

She looked at James. Her husband. The man she loved more than any other in the entire world.

She wanted to hit him.

"I waited," she said softly, her words laced with bitter sadness. Why couldn't she make him understand?

"I sent the Patronus…"

"I _know_," Lily interrupted. "I just…"

What? What could she say? How could she put into words what it felt like when she at home waiting for him? How could she adequately describe the sound of their grandfather clock echoing in the unnatural silence of the house, or the fading smell of his shampoo on their pillows, or sofa cushions that were cold to the touch because he was never home long enough to sit on them?

How could she make him understand what it was like to _wait_?

"Sirius and I took his motorbike out for a ride," he said. "Just to blow off some steam after the mission. It was... we were... it was _incredible_, Lily. You should see how fast it can go." He was grinning again.

"You drove _drunk_?" she asked disapprovingly, latching onto the first thought that came to mind because it was far easier than contemplating the fact that her husband had preferred to spend his spare time with a motorbike rather than with her.

"No, that was before the pub," Sirius interjected helpfully, blinking repeatedly at Lily. "But Prongs won't let go of it 'cause he thinks we coulda gone faster."

"Oh," Lily said. She really had no idea how to else to respond.

"Lily," James said again.

Her name. Did he really think repeating it would help?

"I'm tired," she said finally, looking for an excuse that would end this confrontation. "I'm just tired."

And she was. It was an exhaustion that sunk into her bones and wrapped itself around her soul. It was a feeling that trailed her everywhere, every minute of the day. It was a constant presence – just as constant as the feel of their child moving in her womb, just as constant as the morning sickness that plagued her, just as constant as the fear that she had no idea how to be a mother.

Just as constant as the war.

Just as constant as the waiting.

She stepped backwards, away from James. "I'm going to bed," she said.

"I'll be there in a moment," James said.

Lily nodded, and didn't say that she would be pretending to be asleep when he came to bed, that she would be curled on her side, away from him. She didn't say that she would be blinking back tears, didn't say that she would be biting back anger.

Every night went the same way. She pretended, and James let her pretend, and in the morning nothing was better, but they still pretended anyway.

She glanced at Sirius. "Make sure you get him settled onto the sofa," she said to James, irritation creeping into her voice. "He's in no condition to Apparate home."

"I'm fine!" Sirius protested.

Lily ignored him and turned away again to walk back to her bed, to the pillows that smelled faintly like James' shampoo.

She paused at the doorway to her bedroom and listened to the sounds of James and Sirius moving around in the living room. Sirius was muttering something under his breath – probably more declarations that he was not drunk – and James was trying to shepherd his best mate to the sofa.

"Morgana didn't seem happy to see me," she heard Sirius say, his voice suddenly louder, his words a bit more distinct.

James sighed. "When does Lily ever seem happy to see you?" he countered.

"Hmm… clearly, she's no good judge of men," Sirius replied, slurring again. "I mean… she married _you_."

"Oh, shut it."

"She's a bit touchy though, isn't she?" Sirius continued, completely oblivious to the fact that he was now talking bluntly and somewhat drunkenly about a delicate and personal subject. "Lately. She's been… I dunno… moody. Not Moody like Mad Eye, but moody like… upset."

"I know what you meant," James said. "She's just… the war… it's…"

"It's pregnancy, is what it is," Sirius said flatly, simplistically. The alcohol had apparently taken all the complexities of war and boiled them down into something purely biological. "Pregnant women go completely barmy. Everyone knows that."

Lily had heard enough. She had no idea what James would say in response to that, and she didn't really want to know. He didn't understand, and she couldn't _make_ him understand. She could say that she was tired of waiting for him to come home, and he would whisper apologies and reassurances, but…

It was more than that. Ever since the pregnancy had started, it felt like all she ever did was sit around and wait, but in truth, she wasn't waiting for James to come home. Not really.

She was waiting for the night James _didn't_ come home.

* * *

Her hands were shaking.

The teacup rattled against the saucer, calling attention to the tremors she had been trying to hide. She pushed the cup and saucer quickly onto the counter so she wouldn't drop them, and closed her eyes.

"Lily?"

"I'm fine, Cynthia." Lily opened her eyes and took a breath before turning to face her friend. Cynthia was leaning against the kitchen table, watching her in concerned silence, and in that moment, Lily wanted so desperately to unload everything that was weighing on her.

But she _couldn't_.

Cynthia wasn't in the Order.

"Here, you sit down and let me finish making the tea," Cynthia instructed.

Lily pressed her hands flat against her trousers, running her palms over the fabric, and nodded. "No tea leaves," she said in a hoarse whisper, a hint of sarcasm lacing her words. "I don't think I want to see the future."

When had she become so bitter?

"As you wish," Cynthia replied, ushering Lily towards the table and taking her spot at the counter.

Lily watched in silence as Cynthia pulled down the container of teabags from the cupboard and the pitcher of milk from the refrigerator. She moved around quickly, adroitly, as though she was familiar with every inch of the kitchen.

She probably was – she'd been here often enough.

Once the tea was made and Cynthia was sitting across from Lily at the table, the blonde broke the silence.

"Is James alright?"

Lily jerked her chin up, surprised.

"It's the only reason I can think of that you would be this upset and he wouldn't be here, at your side," Cynthia explained patiently, taking a sip of her tea and continuing to study Lily over the rim of the cup.

"He was injured," Lily admitted slowly. It was probably alright to tell Cynthia that because the other witch worked at St. Mungo's and could just figure it out herself if she wanted. James' injuries were hardly Order secrets – but the mission he'd been on was.

"Was it bad?" Cynthia asked.

Lily chuckled darkly, and replied, "Is seeing your husband covered in blood ever _good_?"

"But he's alright?" Cynthia pressed, furrowing her brow in concern and leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table.

"Yes," Lily answered, biting off the word. "They were able to patch him up at St. Mungo's. He's just _fine_."

She looked down at her cup, slowly swirling the tea with her spoon.

James was fine, and she knew she should be grateful for that. She _was_ grateful for that. There was very little in her life that had been as painfully terrifying as those minutes standing in one of the white-washed hallways of St. Mungo's, waiting for someone to tell her if her husband would live. She had sunk to her knees in sheer relief when James had stumbled out of the room, still bloody and bruised but _alive_, and he had wrapped his arms around her and whispered _I love you _over and over again into her hair and for that brief second everything felt _right_.

And then Dumbledore had arrived and needed James' report, and he'd followed the Headmaster to Hogwarts to talk to McGonagall and Moody as well, and Lily had returned home to an empty house and more _waiting_.

"So there was no lasting damage?" Cynthia prompted, still obviously searching for more details as to why Lily was so upset.

"Nothing that couldn't be fixed by some healing spells and a blood-replenishing potion," Lily answered, running a hand through her hair.

And she knew how very lucky that made James. Lately the Death Eaters had started causing damage that was harder to cure, using curses that left behind permanent marks. Moody's scars were proof enough of that.

But what did it say about the world when a person being nearly murdered _made him lucky_?

"I hate this," Lily murmured, more to herself than to Cynthia. "I hate everything about this war."

Cynthia's lip curled into a sardonic smile. "Most sane people hate war," she replied.

Lily blinked. "Yeah." She chewed her lip, then said, "When I found out I was pregnant, I knew I had to stop fighting. I had to hide, to help the Order in other ways. And I thought that it would be alright… that I was alright with it. But I'm _not_."

"Why not?"

"Because I feel so _helpless_!" Lily snapped. "Because if I'm not out there fighting, then… then what am I doing?"

"You are protecting yourself and your unborn child," Cynthia replied soothingly. "And you're helping in other ways, aren't you? Sorting through intelligence and doing research…"

"What good is any of that?" Lily demanded. "I can't fight. I can't protect people. I read things in books and newspapers, and I listen to what other people have learned and offer theories, but how does that help anyone? How am I… how is this… how is it _right_?"

It was hard to ask those questions, hard to put her feelings into words, because underneath all of it was the fear that feeling this way made her a bad person, and no matter how much she trusted Cynthia with her secrets, she hated having to admit to this weakness. What kind of mother resented the fact that she was being forced to put her child's safety first?

Cynthia asked softly, "Because the only thing a truly _good_ person would do is fight?"

Lily realized too late how her words had sounded, and quickly opened her mouth to take them back. But the apologies and backtracking got stuck in her throat and refused to come out. She hadn't meant to go down this road with Cynthia, but now that they were here, she didn't know how to get back.

Or did she just not care enough about Cynthia's feelings to put in the effort, and if that was true, what kind of friend was she?

Cynthia sipped her tea silently, clearly having no desire to give Lily a way out of this one, and Lily wondered vaguely how Cynthia felt, being on the outside of the Order. Did it hurt? Did she feel left behind, left out? Did she have the same kind of anger, of helpless aggravation, that Lily experienced every day.

Did she feel judged?

But Cynthia had made her decision. Dumbledore hadn't asked her to be in the Order, true – but she knew that it existed, she knew that Dumbledore was behind it, and Lily was confidant that if Cynthia had gone to Dumbledore and asked to join the Headmaster would have accepted her without hesitation.

But Cynthia never had.

Finally, in frustration, Lily practically growled, "James could die any day. _All_ of us could."

"Yes, Lily," Cynthia agreed. "_All_ of us could. Not just James, not just those in the Order." She set her cup down and met the redhead's gaze, and continued, "I know James is in more danger than the average person. His missions put him in danger, and the Death Eaters will target him more because they know he's in the Order. But most of the people who come into St. Mungo's aren't Order members. They're shopkeepers and barristers and bureaucrats and housewives and children. And Muggles."

"That's why we're fighting! To stop this, to _protect_ them!"

"And that is why I want to be a Healer," Cynthia answered calmly. "To help the people you _don't_ protect, the ones you can't reach in time."

"You can be a Healer and be in the Order," Lily protested. "You wouldn't even have to go out on missions. Dumbledore could have things for you to do in St. Mungo's."

"Or I could just be a Healer," Cynthia answered. "There is nothing wrong with that." She hesitated, then said, "This fighting, Lily… this need to always feel like you're doing something. That's _you_. And I understand, I do, because if I suddenly found out I couldn't be a Healer, it would… I don't know what I would do." She hesitated again, then said, "But I know what I wouldn't do. I wouldn't assume that the only worthwhile way to fight this war is through Healing."

Lily opened her mouth to snap back, to retort with an insult or a sharp remark or _something_.

But Cynthia continued, "The Healers who saved James' life today – were they in the Order? And Remus and Peter – they are in the Order, but don't most of their tasks not involve actual fighting? Don't they try to talk to people?"

Lily closed her eyes. "I… you're right. You are, and I _know_ that. But I still hate this," she whispered. "It isn't me."

She felt Cynthia take her hands and squeeze them gently. "I know," the blonde murmured. "I know it isn't you, and I hate all this, too. And sometimes… sometimes I think that even if we win, this war is going to leave us with a broken world and broken people."

Lily opened her eyes and gave a strange, strangled laugh. "Yeah," she agreed. She pulled one hand out of her Cynthia's grasp and dropped it to her stomach, resting it over what she thought might be her child's heart.

But she continued to hold onto Cynthia with her other hand, grasping the blonde's fingers as though they were some sort of lifeline.

And they sat there, the two of them, and waited for James to come home.

* * *

They found her body – broken, bleeding, face filled with signs of pain and fear, and the Death Eaters had clearly enjoyed what they were doing – amidst the rubble of a ruined book store.

* * *

The invitation to the funeral came on a cream-colored card stuffed in a black envelope, and Lily chucked it into the fire the moment she had finished reading the words.

James was staring at her, and she wanted to say something – anything. But the words were stuck in her throat and jumbled in the wrong order and she just couldn't…

"Lily," he started, and then stopped, and then started again, "please talk to me."

What was she supposed to say?

She wanted to yell at him. She'd been wanting to yell at him for months. But she couldn't, because he was never home, and when he was home just being around him required so much energy that she didn't have any left over to argue or scream.

She was tired. She was so tired.

"Do you remember when I told you I was pregnant?" she whispered abruptly.

James smiled, one of those boyish grins that lit up his entire face and reminded her of Hogwarts, of the perceptions of safety that the school offered. The world around them had been burning, but they had been happy there – they had thought that they were safe, that nothing could touch them. Even after Hogsmeade was attacked, even after their friends had lost family members…

They had been naïve.

"I remember," James said. "You were standing in the bathroom when I got home, shaking like a leaf and babbling about how you wanted a perfect future."

"I wasn't babbling," Lily protested, but it was a weak and half-hearted attempt at an argument.

Her voice had been unnaturally high-pitched when he'd walked into the bathroom, and her eyes had been rimmed with red from the tears she had cried because she could not do this, she could not have a baby in this world, she could not be a mother, she was too _young_.

And she'd wanted to just blurt out everything to James, but…

"Sirius had just gotten that new engine for his motorbike," James said fondly, "and I kept going on about how much fun it was."

And Lily had let him, because every time she'd tried to open her mouth and explain – she was pregnant and they were going to have a baby and how the hell had that just happened? – she'd found it far easier to just let him talk about something inane and…

"You were smiling," Lily said, frowning. "That stupid motorbike. It made you happy."

There were so few things that made them happy anymore.

"So did the baby, when you finally told me," James replied. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he continued, "You started crying into my chest and insisted that everything was fine, but I knew it wasn't. And I kept demanding that you tell me what was going on, and you kept saying that you wanted the world to go back to the way things were before the war, that the new world might not be good enough. That even if we won the war, the world that we created would be new and different, but maybe not better. I had no idea what you meant."

Lily nodded slowly and stared at the fireplace where the funeral invitation had turned to ash. She had finally blurted out the truth to James, and he had stared at her in complete incomprehension for a long moment, as though the word _pregnant_ baffled him.

Then he'd laughed and hugged her and lifted up her shirt to press kisses into her stomach. He'd been happy, and she'd been happy and…

"That was the last time I remember being truly happy," Lily admitted.

Her words echoed in the suddenly silent room, and she could feel James' gaze on her. But she couldn't look at him. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to give him the opportunity to say that he would make it all better, because he _couldn't_, and she didn't think that he fully realized that yet.

He still believed that every problem could be fixed.

And maybe that was the crux of the problem. Maybe he kept trying to make everything better, unable to accept the simple fact that he couldn't. Unable to accept that he didn't understand what this was like for her.

How many arguments had they had over his involvement in the Order? How many conversations had turned down that path and ended with bickering or pained silence? He had cut back on his Order missions, only going on ones where he was really needed, and he had thought that that would be enough. But he still went on _some_ missions and she _still_ waited and...

And maybe she was the problem. Maybe she just needed to find a way to live with the shape of her life because she was pregnant and he was fighting a war and what other choice did they have?

"I sit at home and _wait_. I wait and wait and wait and it just…" She rubbed at her eyes, angrily brushing away the tears that had started to fall. "Cynthia's _dead_, James!"

"I know," James whispered.

"No… no you don't!" She jumped up from her seat and started pacing, shaking with fury and grief. "The last time I saw her, we argued because… Merlin, I don't even know _why_. It was the same stupid argument. She wasn't in the Order and I thought she should join and I… _we_ judged her for it. And now she's dead."

"Cynthia knew that you two were friends," James protested softly. "She knew how you felt about her. if that is why you're upset…"

She spun around to face him, furious that he couldn't see it. How could he be so oblivious?

Yes, this was about Cynthia and the argument and her death, but it also wasn't. it was about sitting at home and waiting, it was about the haunted look in Remus' eyes, it was about what Regulus' death did to Sirius, it was about…

"You could have died that day," Lily whispered. Her words rushed together and came out incoherently. "You… at St. Mungo's, I thought… and then you weren't dead, but you didn't even… you went with _Dumbledore_!"

"Lily…"

"And I went home and waited. _Again_."

"I had to…"

"I _know_ what you had to do, James! I know that you are important to the Order, that you have to fight. I understand it, I accept it, I _do_. But do you honestly think that makes it any better? Any easier?" She laughed darkly, coldly. "I keep thinking that it will all be better when the war is over, but what if it won't? What if it doesn't ever get better?"

"It will," James said firmly, and she could see from the look in his eyes that he actually believed that.

"Cynthia's dead! It won't get better for her. She won't get a future, she won't get another chance… Don't you see? It doesn't matter if the war ends tomorrow, if we suddenly win, if Voldemort just disappears! Cynthia is _dead_, and she is _never_ coming back."

"Lily…"

"_Stop it_!" she snarled, face flushed darkly. "Stop saying my name like that, like you can actually fix this, like you can make everything better!"

"I can help you! If you would just _talk_ to me instead of shutting me out like you have been," James yelled back, finally raising his voice to match hers. "I could help you, Lily, if you would just let me!"

She sagged suddenly, all the energy gone, and leaned against the wall. "It's like I'm watching a horror film and I can't stop it and I can't look away. I'm trapped here, waiting, and it isn't me and it shouldn't be _my_ life. Cynthia's dead, and I hate _them_ for taking her away and I hate _her_ for dying. But how am I suppose to talk to you about this when every time I even think about her death, all I imagine is how much worse it would have been had they killed _you_?"

"But they didn't kill me," James tried to reassure her.

"But they _could_," Lily countered. "And how would you feel if you had to stay at home and wait every time I went rushing off to a mission? How would you feel if you were the one constantly left behind?" She shook her head and muttered, "We were so happy when we found out I was pregnant, but…"

"But what?"

She tilted her chin up to look at him, tears catching in her lashes and slipping down her cheeks, and said bluntly, "But now we're _not _happy, James. And what if this is it? What if this is the closest we get to being happy again?"

He stared at her mutely, and she could tell that he wanted to say the right thing, but he didn't know what it was. But knowing the right thing to say had never been one of his strong points, and she didn't know why she thought this time would be any different.

Then he said, "I'll take it."

"You'll… _what_?" Lily asked, confused.

"This," James said, spreading his arms wide to encompass both of them and their home and everything in it. "If this is the closest we get to being happy again, then I will take it."

"Did you hear _anything_ I just said?" she snapped.

He stepped closer to her, and she tried to move away. But he grabbed onto her arms to stop her, and the wall was at her back, giving her little room.

"Yes," he said quietly, gazing at her intently. "I heard you. You're hurting. You are scared and angry and grieving. And it hurts me, too, because you've been like this for months and I couldn't figure out what was wrong or how to help and you wouldn't let me. Yes, Lily, I heard you. I heard everything you said and I understand. And maybe I don't know everything you are going through because I am not the one who has to wait, but I love you and it is hurting me, too!"

"Oh, shut up," she snapped irritably, yanking her arms from his grasp and shoving him in the chest to push him away from her. His words were condescending, and how could he really think that they would help her? She didn't want his pity, and she didn't want him to be looking at her with sympathy in his eyes, as though she was some hysterical little girl.

She stepped past him, turning her back so that she wouldn't have to face him.

"You don't understand it at all."

"Yes, I do!" James protested, placing a hand on her shoulder. She tried to shrug it off, but he wouldn't let go. "I know you are hurting, and I know I am hurting, and I know this whole thing just… hurts."

"Oh, very eloquent," she snipped at him over her shoulder.

He ignored her comment, and instead said, "But I'll take it. If this is as happy as we ever get, then I will take it because here's the thing; maybe this makes me selfish and self-centered, but damn it, Lily, I would still take miserable and painful with you than not have you in my life at all!"

She turned then, and he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her tightly. She thought about trying to struggle, trying to pull away, but what was the point? He wasn't going to let her go - not ever - and that wasn't really what she wanted anyway.

"That does make you selfish," she said flatly, her voice muffled by his chest.

"I know."

A pause. "But I love you, too."

She felt him press a kiss into her hair as he murmured, "I know."

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Even though you're an arrogant toerag."

"I know." He let go of her with one arm and brushed the hair out of her face. "Please don't shut me out," he whispered.

"I'm not trying to," she answered honestly. "But I don't know how to stop feeling this way. I don't think I can. And every time I try to say something... I can't explain it to you. I can't make you feel what I feel because you aren't in my place and..." She sighed, and tilted her head up to look at him, "You can't fix this, James. You can't make it not hurt."

"I want to," he answered softly, simplistically.

"But you _can't_." Lily closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts, then opened them and said, "I need you to understand that. I love you, James, more than anyone else in the world, but you can't make everything better."

He sighed, and for a moment she thought he was going to protest, but instead he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips.

"I know."


End file.
